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A Lost Leader 



















< 



A Lost 


Leader 


By 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 

Author of “A Maker of History,” “Mysterious Mr. Sabin,” 
“The Master Mummer,” “Anna the Adventuress,” 

Etc. 



Boston 

Little, Brown & Company 

1906 


*• 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 


.MAY 26 1906 

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Copyright, 1906, 

By Little, Brown & Company 
All rights reserved 


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^rintera 

S. J. Parkhill 4 Co., Bostok, U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK I 


Chapter 

PAGE 

I 

Reconstruction .... 

1 

II 

The Woman with an Alias 

11 

III 

Wanted — A Politician . 

. 22 

IV 

The Duchess Asks a Question 

. 30 

V 

The Hesitation of Mr. Mannering 

41 

VI 

Sacrifice ..... 

. 49 

VII 

The Duchess’s “At Home” 

. 54 

VIII 

The Mannering Mystery 

. 60 

IX 

The Pumping of Mrs. Phillimore . 

. 68 

X 

The Man with a Motive 

77 

XI 

Mannering’s Alternative 

. 84 


BOOK II 


I 

Borrowdean makes a Bargain 

. 92 

II 

“Cherchez la Femme” . 

. 103 

III 

One of the “Sufferers” 

. Ill 

IV 

Debts of Honour .... 

. 120 

V 

Love versus Politics 

. 130 

VI 

The Conscience of a Statesman 

. 137 

VII 

A Blow for Borrowdean 

. 144 

VIII 

A Page from the Past . 

. 152 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

IX The Faltering of Mannering 
X The End of a Dream 
XI Borrowdean shows his “Hand” 

XII Sir Leslie Borrowdean incurs a Heavy 
Debt ...... 

XIII The Woman and — the Other Woman 

BOOK III 

I Matrimony and an Awkward Meeting 
II The Snub for Borrowdean 

III Clouds — and a Call to Arms . 

IV Disaster ..... 

V The Journalist Intervenes . 

VI Treachery and a Telegram . 

YII Mr. Mannering, M.P. 

VIII Playing the Game .... 

IX The Tragedy of a Key . 

X Blanche finds a Way Out 

BOOK IV 

I The Persistency of Borrowdean . 

II Hester Thinks it “A Great Pity” . 

III Summoned to Windsor . 

IV Checkmate to Borrowdean 

V A Brazen Proceeding 


page 

159 

165 

171 

178 

186 


195 

202 

210 

216 

223 

230 

238 

246 

254 

261 


268 

274 

281 

287 

293 


A LOST LEADER 


BOOK I 

CHAPTER I 

RECONSTRUCTION 

T HE two men stood upon the top of a bank 
bordering the rough road which led to the sea. 
They were listening to the lark, which had risen flut- 
tering from their feet a moment or so ago, and was 
circling now above their heads. Mannering, with a 
quiet smile, pointed upwards. 

“There, my friend!” he exclaimed. “You can listen 
now to arguments more eloquent than any which I 
could ever frame. That little creature is singing the 
true, uncorrupted song of life. He sings of the sun- 
shine, the buoj^ant air; the pure and simple joy of 
existence is beating in his little heart. The things 
which lie behind the hills will never sadden him. His 
kingdom is here, and he is content.” 

Borrowdean’s smile was a little cynical. He was 
essentially of that order of men who are dwellers in 
cities, and even the sting of the salt breeze blowing 
across the marshes — marshes riven everywhere with 
long arms of the sea — could bring no colour to his pale 
cheeks.' 

“Your little bird — a lark, I think you called it,” he 
remarked, “may be a very eloquent prophet for the 


2 


A LOST LEADER 


whole kingdom of his species, but the song of life for a 
bird and that for a man are surely different things!” 

“Not so very different after all,” Mannering answered, 
still watching the bird. “The longer one lives, the 
more clearly one recognizes the absolute universality 
of life.” 

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders, with a little ges- 
ture of impatience. He had left London at a moment 
when he could ill be spared, and had not travelled to 
this out-of-the-way corner of the kingdom to exchange 
purposeless platitudes with a man whose present at- 
titude towards life at any rate he heartily despised. 
He seated himself upon a half-broken rail, and lit a 
cigarette. 

“Mannering,” he said, “I did not come here to 
simper cheap philosophies with you like a couple of 
schoolgirls. I have a real live errand. I want to speak 
to you of great things.” 

Mannering moved a little uneasily. He had a very 
shrewd idea as to the nature of that errand. 

“Of great things,” he repeated slowly. “Are you in 
earnest, Borrowdean?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” Mannering continued, “I have left the 
world of great things, as you and I used to regard them, 
very far behind. I am glad to see you here, of course, 
but I cannot think of any serious subject which it 
Would be useful or profitable for us to discuss. You 
understand me, Borrowdean, I am sure!” 

Borrowdean closely eyed this man who once had 
been his friend. 

“The old sore still rankles, then, Mannering,” he said. 
“Has time done nothing to heal it?” 


RECONSTRUCTION 


3 


Mannering laughed easily. 

"How can you think me such a child?” he exclaimed. 
“If Rochester himself were to come to see me he would 
be as welcome as you are. In fact,” he continued, 
more seriously, “if you could only realize, my friend, 
how peaceful and happy life here may be, amongst the 
quiet places, you would believe me at once when I 
assure you that I can feel nothing but gratitude towards 
those people and those circumstances which impelled 
me to seek it.” 

“What should you think, then,” Borrowdean asked, 
watching his friend through half-closed eyes, “of those 
who sought to drag you from it?” 

Mannering’s laugh was as free and natural as the 
wind itself. He had bared his head, and had turned 
directly seawards. 

“Hatred, my dear Borrowdean,” he declared, “if I 
thought that they had a single chance of success. As 
it is — indifference.” 

Borrowdean’s eyebrows were raised. He held his 
cigarette between his fingers, and looked at it for 
several moments. 

“Yet I am here,” he said slowly, “for no other 
purpose.” 

Mannering turned and faced his friend. 

“All I can say is that I am' sorry to hear it,” he 
declared. “I know the sort of man you are, Borrow- 
dean, and I know very well that if you have come 
down here with something to say to me you will say 
it. Therefore go on. Let us have it over.” 

Borrowdean stood up. His tone acquired a new 
earnestness. He became at once more of a man. The 
cynical curve of his lips had vanished. 


4 


A LOST LEADER 


“We are on the eve of great opportunities, Manner- 
ing,” he said. “Six months ago the result of the next 
General Election seemed assured. We appeared to be 
as far off any chance of office as a political party could 
be. To-day the whole thing is changed. We are on 
the eve of a general reconstruction. It is our one great 
chance of this generation. I come to you as a patriot. 
Rochester asks you to forget.” 

Mannering held up his hand. 

“Stop one moment, Borrowdean,” he said. “I 
want you to understand this once and for all. I have 
no grievance against Rochester. The old wound, if 
it ever amounted to that, is healed. If Rochester 
were here at this moment I would take his hand 
cheerfully. But ” 

“Ah! There is a but, then,” Borrowdean inter- 
rupted. 

“There is a but,” Mannering assented. “You may 
find it hard to understand, but here is the truth. I 
have lost all taste for public life. The whole thing is 
rotten, Borrowdean, rotten from beginning to end. I 
have had enough of it to last me all my days. Party 
policy must come before principle. A man’s individ- 
uality, his whole character, is assailed and suborned 
on every side. There is but one life, one measure of 
days, that you or I know anything of. It doesn’t 
last very long. The months and years have a knack 
of slipping away emptily enough unless we are al- 
ways standing to attention. Therefore I think that 
it becomes our duty to consider very carefully, al- 
most religiously, how best to use them. Come here 
for a moment, Borrowdean. I want to show you 
something.” 


RECONSTRUCTION 


5 


The two men stood side by side upon the grassy bank, 
Mannering broad-shouldered and vigorous, his clean, 
hard-cut features tanned with wind and sun, his eyes 
bright and vigorous with health; Leslie Borrowdean, 
once his greatest friend, a man of almost similar phys- 
ique, but with the bent frame and listless pallor of 
a dweller in the crowded places of life. Without 
enthusiasm his tired eyes followed the sweep of 
Mannering’s arm. 

“You see those yellow sandhills beyond the marshes 
there? Behind them is the sea. Do you catch that 
breath of wind? Take off your hat, man, and get it 
into your lungs. It comes from the North Sea, salt 
and fresh and sweet. I think that it is the purest thing 
on earth. You can walk here for miles and miles in 
the open, and the wind is like God’s own music. Bor- 
rowdean, I am going to say things to you which one 
says but once or twice in his life. I came to this country 
a soured man, cynical, a pessimist, a materialist by 
training and environment. To-day I speak of a God 
with bowed head, for I believe that somewhere behind 
all these beautiful things their prototype must exist. 
Don’t think I’ve turned ranter. I’ve never spoken like 
this to any one else before, and I don’t suppose I ever 
shall again. Here is Nature, man, the greatest force on 
earth, the mother, the mistress, beneficent, wonderful! 
You are a creature of cities. Stay with me here for a 
day or two, and the joy of all these things will steal 
into your blood. You, too, will know what peace is.” 

Borrowdean, as though unconsciously, straightened 
himself. If no colour came to his cheeks, the light of 
battle was at least in his eyes. This man was speak- 
ing heresies. The words sprang to his lips. 


6 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Peace!” he exclaimed, scornfully. “ Peace is for 
the dead. The last reward perhaps of a breaking 
heart. The life effective, militant, is the only possible 
existence for men. Pull yourself together, Mannering, 
for Heaven’s sake. Yours is the faineant spirit of the 
decadent, masquerading in the garb of a sham primi- 
tivism. Were you born into the world, do you think, 
to loiter through life an idle worshipper at the altar 
of beauty? Who are you to dare to skulk in the quiet 
places, whilst the battle of life is fought by others?” 

Another lark had risen almost from their feet, and, 
circling its way upwards, was breaking into song. And 
below, the full spring tide was filling the pools and 
creeks with the softly flowing, glimmering sea-water. 
The fishing boats, high and dry an hour ago, were 
passing now seaward along the silvery way. All these 
things Mannering was watching with rapt eyes, even 
whilst he listened to his companion. 

“Dear friend,” he said, “the world can get on very 
well without me, and I have no need of the world. 
The battle that you speak of — well, I have been in the 
fray, as you know. The memory of it is still a night- 
mare to me.” 

Borrowdean had the appearance of a man who 
sought to put a restraint upon his words. He was 
silent for a moment, and then he spoke very deliberately. 

“Mannering,” he said, “do not think me wholly 
unsympathetic. There is a side of me which sym- 
pathises deeply with every word which you have said. 
And there is another which forces me to remind you 
again and again, that we men were never born to linger 
in the lotos lands of the world. You do not stand for 
yourself alone. You exist as a unit of humanity. 


RECONSTRUCTION 


7 


Think of your responsibilities. You have found for 
yourself a beautiful corner of the world. That is all 
very well for you, but how about the rest? How 
about the millions who are chained to the cities that 
they may earn their living pittance, whose wives and 
children fill the churchyards, the echoes of whose 
weary, never-ceasing cry must reach you even here? 
They are the people, the sufferers, fellow-links with 
you in the chain of humanity. You may stand aloof 
as you will, but you can never cut yourself wholly 
away from the great family of your fellows. You 
may hide from your responsibilities, but the burden 
of them will lie heavy upon your conscience, the poison 
will penetrate sometimes into your most jealously 
guarded paradise. We are of the people’s party, you 
and I, Mannering, and I tell you that the tocsin has 
sounded. We need you!” 

A shadow had fallen upon Mannering’s face. Bor- 
rowdean was in earnest, and his appeal was scarcety 
one to be treated lightly. Nevertheless, Mannering 
showed no sign of faltering, though his tone was cer- 
tainly graver. 

“ Leslie,” he said, “you speak like a prophet, but 
believe me, my mind is made up. I have taken root 
here. Such work as I can do from my study is, as it 
always has been, at your service. But I myself have 
finished with actual political life. Don’t press me too 
hard. I must seem churlish and ungrateful, but if I 
listened to you for hours the result would be the 
same. I have finished with actual political life.” 

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders despairingly. 
Such a man was hard to deal with. 

“Mannering,” he protested, “you must not, you 


8 


A LOST LEADER 


really must not, send me away like this. You speak 
of your written work. Don’t think that I underesti- 
mate it because I have not alluded to it before. I 
myself honestly believe that it was those wonderful 
articles of yours in the Nineteenth Century which 
brought back to a reasonable frame of mind thousands 
who were half led away by the glamour of this new 
campaign. You kindled the torch, my friend, and you 
must bear it to victory. You bring me to my last 
resource. If you will not serve under Rochester, come 
back — and Rochester will serve under you when the 
time comes.” 

Mannering shook his head slowly. 

“I wish I could convince you,” he said, “once and 
for all, that my refusal springs from no such reasons 
as you seem to imagine. I would sooner sit here, with 
a volume of Pater or Meredith, and this west wind 
blowing in my face, than I would hear myself acclaimed 
Prime Minister of England. Let us abandon this 
discussion once and for all, Borrowdean. We have 
arrived at a cul-de-sac, and I have spoken my last 
word.” 

Borrowdean threw his half-finished cigarette into 
the ever-widening creek below. It was characteristic 
of the man that his face showed no sign of disappoint- 
ment. Only for several moments he kept silence. 

“Come,” Mannering said at last. “Let us make 
our way back to the house. If you are resolved to 
get back to town to-night, we ought to be thinking 
about luncheon.” 

“Thank you,” Borrowdean said. “I must return.” 

They started to walk inland, but they had taken 
only a few steps when they both, as though by a 


RECONSTRUCTION 


9 


common impulse, stopped. An unfamiliar sound had 
broken in upon the deep silence of this quiet land. 
Borrowdean, who was a few paces ahead, pointed to 
the bend in the road below, and turned towards his 
companion with a little gesture of cynical amusement. 

“Behold,” he exclaimed, “the invasion of modernity. 
Even your time-forgotten paradise, Mannering, has its 
civilizations, then. What an anachronism!” 

With a cloud of dust behind, and with the sun flash- 
ing upon its polished metal parts, a motor car swung 
into sight, and came rushing towards them. Borrow- 
dean, always a keen observer of trifles, noticed the 
change in Mannering’s face. 

“It is a neighbour of mine,” he remarked. “She is 
on her way to the golf links.” 

“Golf links!” Borrowdean exclaimed. 

Mannering nodded. 

“Behind the sandhills there,” he remarked. 

There was a grinding of brakes. The car came to a 
standstill below. A woman, who sat alone in the back 
seat, raised her veil and looked upwards. 

“Am I late?” she asked. “Clara has gone on — they 
told me!” 

She had addressed Mannering, but her eyes seemed 
suddenly drawn to Borrowdean. As though dazzled 
by the sun, she dropped her veil. Borrowdean was 
standing as though turned to stone, perfectly rigid and 
motionless. His face was like a still, white mask. 

“I am so sorry,” Mannering said, “but I have had 
a most unexpected visit from an old friend. May I 
I introduce Sir Leslie Borrowdean— Mrs. Handsell!” 

The lady in the car bent her head, and Borrowdean 
performed an automatic salute. Mannering continued: 


10 


A LOST LEADER 


“I am afraid that I must throw myself upon your 
mercy! Sir Leslie insists upon returning this after- 
noon, and I am taking him back for an early luncheon. 
You will find Clara and Lindsay at the golf club. May 
we have our foursome to-morrow?” 

“ Certainly! I will not keep you for a moment. I 
must hurry now, or the tide will be over the road.” 

She motioned the driver to proceed, but Borrowdean 
interposed. 

“Mannering,” he said, “I am afraid that the poison 
of your lotos land is beginning to work already. May 
I stay until to-morrow and walk round with you 
whilst you play your foursome? I should enjoy it 
immensely.” 

Mannering looked at his friend for a moment in 
amazement. Then he laughed heartily. 

“ By all means ! ” he answered. “ Our foursome stands, 
then, Mrs. Handsell. This way, Borrowdean!” 

The two men turned once more seaward, walking in 
single file along the top of the grassy bank. The 
woman in the car inclined her head, and motioned 
the driver to proceed. 


CHAPTER II 


THE WOMAN WITH AN ALIAS 

B ORROWDEAN seemed after all to take but little 
interest in the game. He walked generally, some 
distance away from the players, on the top of the 
low bank of sandhills which fringed the sea. He 
was one of those men whom solitude never wearies, 
a weaver of carefully thought-out schemes, no single 
detail of which was ever left to chance or impulse. 
Such moments as these were valuable to him. He 
bared his head to the breeze, stopped to listen to the 
larks, watched the sea-gulls float low over the lapping 
waters, without paying the slightest attention to any 
one of them. The instinctive cunning which never 
deserted him led him without any conscious effort to 
assume a pleasure in these things which, as a matter of 
fact, he found entirely meaningless. It led him, too, 
to choose a retired spot for those periods of intensely 
close observation to which he every now and then 
subjected his host and the woman who was now his 
partner in the game. What he saw entirely satisfied 
him. Yet the way was scarcely clear. 

They caught him up near one of the greens, and he 
stood with his hands behind him, and his eyeglass 
securely fixed, gravely watching them approach and 
put for the hole. To him the whole performance 
seemed absolutely idiotic, but he showed no sign of 
anything save a mild and genial interest. Clara, 


12 


A LOST LEADER 


Mannering’s niece, who was immensely impressed with 
him, lingered behind. 

“ Don't you really care for any games at all, Sir 
Leslie ?" she asked. 

He shook his head. 

“I know that you think me a barbarian/' he re- 
marked, smiling. 

“On the contrary," she declared, “that is probably 
what you think us. I suppose they are really a waste 
of time when one has other things to do! Only down 
here, you see, there is nothing else to do." 

He looked at her thoughtfully. He had never yet 
in his life spoken half a dozen words with man, woman 
or child without wondering whether they might not 
somehow or other contribute towards his scheme of 
life. Clara Mannering was pretty, and no doubt fool- 
ish. She lived alone with her uncle, and possibly had 
some influence over him. It was certainly worth while. 

“I do not know you nearly well enough, Miss Man- 
nering," he said, smiling, “to tell you what I really 
think. But I can assure you that you don't seem a 
barbarian to me at all." 

She was suddenly grave. It was her turn to play 
a stroke. She examined the ball, carefully selected a 
club from her bag, and with a long, easy swing sent 
it flying towards the hole. 

“Wonderful!" he murmured. 

She looked up at him and laughed. 

“Tell me what you are thinking," she insisted. 

“That if I played golf," he answered, “I should like 
to be able to play like that." 

“But you must have played games sometimes," she 
insisted. 


THE WOMAN WITH AN ALIAS 


13 


“When I was at Eton ” he murmured. 

Mannering looked back, smiling. 

“He was in the Eton Eleven, Clara, and stroked 
his boat at college. Don’t you believe all he tells 
you.” 

“ I shall not believe another word,” she declared. 

“ I hope you don’t mean it,” he protested, “or I must 
remain dumb.” 

“You want to go off and tramp along the ridges by 
yourself,” she declared. “Confess!” 

“On the contrary,” he answered, “I should like to 
carry that bag for you and hand out the — er — imple- 
ments.” 

She unslung it at once from her shoulder. 

“You have rushed upon your fate,” she said. “Now 
let me fasten it for you.” 

“Is there any remuneration?” he inquired, anxiously. 

“You mercenary person! Stand still now, I am going 
to play. Well, what do you expect?” 

“I am not acquainted with the usual charges,” he 
answered, “but to judge from the weight of the 
clubs ” 

“Give me them back, then,” she cried. 

“Nothing,” he declared, firmly, “would induce me 
to relinquish them. I will leave the matter of re- 
muneration entirely in your hands. I am convinced 
that you have a generous disposition.” 

“The usual charge,” she remarked, “is tenpence, 
and twopence for lunch.” 

“I will take it in kind!” he said. 

She laughed gaily. 

“Give me a mashie, please.” 

He peered into the bag. 


14 


A LOST LEADER 

“ Which of these clubs now,” he asked, “ rejoices in 
that weird name?” 

She helped herself, and played her shot. 

“I couldn’t think,” she said, firmly, “of paying 
the full price to a caddie who doesn’t know what a 
mashie is.” 

“I will be thankful,” he murmured, “for whatever 
you may give me — even if it should be that carna- 
tion you are wearing.” 

She shook her head. 

“It is worth more than tenpence,” she said. 

“Perhaps by extra diligence,” he suggested, “I 
might deserve a little extra. By the bye, why does 
your partner, Mr. Lindsay, isn’t it, walk by himself 
all the time?” 

“He probably thinks,” she answered, demurely, 
“that I am too familiar with my caddie.” 

“You will understand,” he said, earnestly, “that if 
my behaviour is not strictly correct it is entirely owing 
to ignorance. I have no idea as to the exact position 
a caddie should take up.” 

“What a pity you are going away so soon,” she said. 
“I might have given you lessons.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” he begged. “I can assure you 
that without me the constitution of this country would 
collapse within a week.” 

She looked at him — properly awed. 

“What a wonderful person you are!” 

“I am glad,” he said; meekly, “that you are begin- 
ning to appreciate me.” 

“As a caddie,” she remarked, “you are not, I must 
confess, wholly perfect. For instance, your * 1 

should be entirely devoted to the person who ? 


THE WOMAN WITH AN ALIAS 15 

you are carrying, instead of which you talk to me and 
watch Mrs. Handsell.” 

He was almost taken aback. For a pretty girl she 
was really not so much of a fool as he had thought 
her. 

“I deny it in toto!” he declared. 

“Ah, but I know you,” she answered. “You are a 
politician, and you would deny anything. Don’t you 
think her very handsome?” 

Borrowdean gravely considered the matter, which 
was in itself a somewhat humorous thing. Slim and 
erect, with a long, graceful neck, and a carriage of the 
head which somehow suggested the environment of 
a court, Mrs. Handsell was distinctly, even from a 
distance, a pleasant person to look upon. He nodded 
approvingly. 

“Yes, she is good-looking,” he admitted. “Is she 
a neighbour of yours?” 

“She has taken a house within a hundred yards of 
ours,” Clara Mannering answered. “We all think that 
she is delightful.” 

“Is she a widow?” Borrowdean asked. 

“I imagine so,” she answered. “I have never heard 
her speak of her husband. She has beautiful dresses 
and things. I should think she must be very rich. 
Stand quite still, please. I must take great pains over 
this stroke.” 

A wild shot from Clara’s partner a few minutes later 
resulted in a scattering of the little party, searching 
for the ball. For the first time Borrowdean found 
himself near Mrs. Handsell. 

“I must have a few words with you before I go 
back,” he said, nonchalantly. 


16 


A LOST LEADER 


“Say that you would like to try my motor car/' she 
answered. “What do you want here?” 

“I came to see Mannering.” 

“Poor Mannering!” 

“It would be,” he remarked, smoothly, “a mistake 
to quarrel.” 

They separated, and immediately afterwards the ball 
was found. A little later on the round was finished. 
Clara attributed her success to the excellence of her 
caddie. Mrs. Handsell deplored a headache, which had 
put her off her putting. Lindsay, who was in a bad 
temper, declined an invitation to lunch, and rode off 
on his bicycle. The rest of the little party gathered 
round the motor car, and Borrowdean asked prepos- 
terous questions about the gears and the speeds. 

“If you are really interested,” Mrs. Handsell said, 
languidly, “I will take you home. I have only room 
for one, unfortunately, with all these clubs and things.” 

“I should be delighted,” Borrowdean answered, “ but 
perhaps Miss Mannering ” 

“Clara will look after me,” Mannering interrupted, 
smiling. “Try to make an enthusiast of him, Mrs. 
Handsell. He needs a hobby badly.” 

They started off. She leaned back in her seat and 
pulled her veil down. 

“Do not talk to me here,” she said. “We shall have 
a quarter of an hour before they can arrive.” 

Borrowdean assented silently. He was glad of the 
respite, for he wanted to think. A few minutes’ swift 
rush through the air, and the car pulled up before a 
queer, old-fashioned dwelling house in the middle of 
the village. A smart maid-servant came hurrying out 
to assist her mistress. Borrowdean was ushered into 


THE WOMAN WITH AN ALIAS 


17 


a long, low drawing-room, with open windows leading 
out on to a trim lawn. Beyond was a walled garden 
bordering the churchyard. 

Mrs. Handsell came back almost immediately. Bor- 
rowdean, turning his head as she entered, found himself 
studying her with a new curiosity. Yes, she was a 
beautiful woman. She had lost nothing. Her com- 
plexion — a little tanned, perhaps — was as fresh and 
soft as a girl’s, her smile as delightfully full of humour 
as ever. Not a speck of grey in her black hair, not a 
shadow of embarrassment. A wonderful woman! 

“The one thing which we have no time to do is to 
stand and look at one another/’ she declared. “How- 
ever, since you have tried to stare me out of counte- 
nance, what do you find?” 

“I find you unchanged,” he answered, gravely. 

“Naturally! I have found a panacea for all the 
woes of life. Now what do you want down here?” 

“Mannering!” 

“Of course. But you won’t get him. He declares 
that he has finished with politics, and I never knew 
a man so thoroughly in earnest.” 

Borrowdean smiled. 

“No man has ever finished with politics!” 

“A platitude,” she declared. “As for Mannering, 
well, for the first few weeks I felt about him as I 
suppose you do now. I know him better now, and 
I have changed my mind. He is unique, absolutely 
unique! Do you think that I could have existed here 
for nearly two months without him?” 

“May I inquire,” Borrowdean asked, blandly, “how 
much longer you intend to exist here with him?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 


18 


A LOST LEADER 


“All my days — perhaps ! He and this place together 
are an anchorage. Look at me ! Am I not a different 
woman? I know you too well, my dear Leslie, to 
attempt your conversion, but I can assure you that 
I am — very nearly in earnest !” 

“You interest me amazingly/’ he remarked, smiling. 
“May I ask, does Mannering know you as Mrs. Handsell 
only?” 

“Of course!” 

“This,” he continued, “is not the Garden of Eden. 
I may be the first, but others will come who will surely 
recognize you.” 

“I must risk it,” she answered. 

Borrowdean swung his eyeglass backwards and 
forwards. All the time he was thinking intensely. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked. 

“Very nearly two months,” she answered. “Im- 
agine it!” 

“Quite long enough for your little idyll,” he said. 
“Come, you know what the end of it must be. We 
need Mannering! Help us!” 

“Not I,” she answered, coolly. “You must do with- 
out him for the present.” 

“You are our natural ally,” he protested. “We 
need your help now. You know very well that with 
a slip of the tongue I could change the whole situ- 
ation.” 

“Somehow,” she said, “I do not think that you are 
likely to make that slip.” 

“Why not?” he protested. “I begin to understand 
Mannering’s firmness now. You are one of the ropes 
which hold him to this petty life — to this philan- 
dering amongst the flower-pots. You are one of the 


THE WOMAN WITH AN ALIAS 19 

ropes I want to cut. Why not, indeed? I think that 
I could do it.” 

“Do you want a bribe?” 

“I want Mannering.” 

“So do I!” 

“He can belong to you none the less for belonging 
to us politically.” 

“Possibly! But I prefer him here. As a recluse he is 
adorable. I do not want him to go through the mill.” 

“You don’t understand his importance to us,” 
Borrowdean declared. “This is really no light affair. 
Rochester and Mellors both believe in him. There 
is no limit to what he might not ask.” 

“He has told me a dozen times,” she said, “that 
he never means to sit in Parliament again.” 

“There is no reason why he should not change his 
mind,” Borrowdean answered. “Between us, I think 
that we could induce him.” 

“Perhaps,” she answered. “Only I do not mean 
to try.” 

“I wish I could make you understand,” he said 
impatiently, “that I am in deadly earnest.” 

“You threaten?” 

“Don’t call it that.” 

“Very well, then,” she declared, “I will tell him the 
truth myself.” 

“That,” he answered, “is all that I should dare to 
ask. He would come to us to-morrow.” 

“You used not to underrate me,” she murmured, 
with a glance towards the mirror. 

“There is no other man like Mannering,” he said. 
“He abhors any form of deceit. He would forgive a 
murderer, but never a liar.” 


20 


A LOST LEADER 


“My dear Leslie/' she said, “as a friend — and a 
relative " 

“Neither counts/' he interrupted. “I am a poli- 
tician." 

She sat quite still, looking away from him. The 
peaceful noises from the village street found their way 
into the room. A few cows were making their leisurely 
midday journey towards the pasturage, a baker's cart 
came rattling round the corner. The west wind was 
rustling in the elms, bending the shrubs upon the lawn 
almost to the ground. She watched them idly, already 
a little shrivelled and tarnished with their endless 
struggle for life. 

“I do not wish to be melodramatic," she said, slowly, 
“but you are forcing me into a corner. You know 
that I am rich. You know the people with whom I 
have influence. I want to purchase Lawrence Man- 
nering's immunity from your schemes. Can you name 
no price which I could pay? You and I know one 
another fairly well. You are an egoist, pure and 
simple. Politics are nothing to you save a personal 
affair. You play the game of life in the first person 
singular. Let me pay his quittance." 

Borrowdean regarded her thoughtfully. 

“You are a strange woman," he said. “In a few 
months’ time, when you are back in the thick of it 
all, you will be as anxious to have him there as we are. 
You will not be able to understand how you could 
ever have wished differently. This is rank sentiment, 
you know, which you have been talking. Mannering 
here is a wasted power. His life is an unnatural one." 

“He is happy," she objected. 

“How do you know? Will he be as happy, I wonder, 


THE WOMAN WITH AN ALIAS 


21 


when you have gone, when there is no longer a Mrs. 
Handsell? I think not! You are one of the first to 
whom I should have looked for help in this matter. 
You owe it to us. We have a right to demand it. For 
myself personally I have no life now outside the life 
political. I am tired of being in opposition. I want 
to hold office. One mounts the ladder very slowly. 
I see my way in a few months to going up two rungs 
at a time. We want Mannering. We must have him. 
Don’t force me to make that slip of the tongue.” 

The sound of a gong came through the open window. 
She rose to her feet. 

“We are keeping them waiting for luncheon,” she 
remarked. “I will think over what you have said.” 


CHAPTER III 


WANTED — A POLITICIAN 

S IR LESLIE carefully closed the iron gate behind 
him, and looked around. 

“But where,” he asked, “are the roses?” 

Clara laughed outright. 

“You may be a great politician, Sir Leslie,” she de- 
clared, “but you are no gardener. Roses don’t bloom 
out of doors in May — not in these parts at any rate.” 

“I understand,” he assented, humbly. “This is 
where the roses will be.” 

She nodded. 

“That wall, you see,” she explained, “keeps off the 
north winds, and the chestnut grove the east. There 
is sun here all the day long. You should come to 
Blakely in two months’ time, Sir Leslie. Everything 
is so different then.” 

He sighed. 

“You forget, my dear child,” he murmured, “that 
you are speaking to a slave.” 

“A slave!” she repeated. “How absurd!” You are 
a Cabinet Minister, are you not, Sir Leslie?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“I was once,” he answered, “until an ungrateful 
country grew weary of the monotony of perfect gov- 
ernment and installed our opponents in our places. 
Just now we are in opposition.” 

“In opposition,” she repeated, a little vaguely. 


WANTED— A POLITICIAN 


23 


“Meaning,” he explained, “that we get all the fun, 
no responsibility, and, alas, no pay.” 

“How fascinating,” she exclaimed. “Do sit down 
here, and tell me all about it. But I forgot. You are 
not used to sitting down out of doors. Perhaps you 
will catch cold.” 

Sir Leslie smiled. 

“I am inclined to run the risk,” he said gravely, 
“if you will share it. Seriously, though, these rustic 
seats are rather a delusion, aren’t they, from the point 
of view of comfort?” 

“There shall be cushions,” she declared, “for the 
next time you come.” 

He sighed. 

“Ah, the next time! I dare not look forward to it. 
So you are interested in politics, Miss Mannering?” 

“Well, I believe I am,” she answered, a little 
doubtfully. “To tell you the truth, Sir Leslie, I am 
shockingly ignorant. You must live in London to 
be a politician, mustn’t you?” 

“It is necessary,” he assented, “to spend some part 
of your time there, if you want to come into touch 
with the real thing.” 

“Then I am very interested in politics,” she declared. 
“Please go on.” 

He shook his head. 

“I would rather you talked to me about the roses. 
You should ask your uncle to tell you all about politics. 
He knows far more than I do.” 

“More than you! But you have been a Cabinet 
Minister!” she exclaimed. 

“So was your uncle once,” he answered, “So he 
could be again whenever he chose,” 


24 


A LOST LEADER 


She looked at him incredulously. 

“ You don’t really mean that, Sir Leslie?” 

“ Indeed I do!” he asserted. “ There was never a 
man within my recollection or knowledge who in so 
short a time made for himself a position so brilliant 
as your uncle. There is no man to-day whose written 
word carries so much weight with the people.” 

She sighed a little doubtfully. 

“Then if that is so,” she said, “I cannot imagine 
why we live down here, hundreds of miles away from 
everywhere. Why did he give it up? Why is he 
not in Parliament now?” 

“It is to ask him that question, Miss Mannering,” 
Borrowdean said, “that I am here. No wonder it 
seems surprising to you. It is surprising to all 
of us.” 

She looked at him eagerly. 

“You mean, then, that you — that his party want 
him to go back?” she asked. 

“Assuredly!” 

“You have told him this?” 

“ Of course ! It was my mission ! ” 

“Sir Leslie, you must tell me what he said.” 

Borrowdean sighed. 

“My dear young lady,” he said, “it is rather a pain- 
ful subject with me just now. Yet since you insist, 
I will tell you. Something has come over your uncle 
which I do not understand. His party — no, it is his 
country that needs him. He prefers to stay here, and 
watch his roses blossom.” 

“It is wicked of him!” she declared, energetically. 

“It is inexplicable,” he agreed. “Yet I have used 
every argument which can well be urged.” 


WANTED— A POLITICIAN 25 

“Oh, you must think of others,” she begged. “If 
you knew how weary one gets of this place — a man, 
too, like my uncle! How can he be content? The 
monotony here is enough to drive even a dull person 
like myself mad. To choose such a life, actually to 
choose it, is insanity!” 

Borrowdean raised his head. He had heard the 
click of the garden gate. 

“They are coming,” he said. “I wish you would 
talk to your uncle like this.” 

“I only wish,” she answered, passionately, “that I 
could make him feel as I do.” 

They entered the garden, Mannering, bareheaded, 
following his guest. Borrowdean watched them closely 
as they approached. The woman’s expression was 
purely negative. There was nothing to be learned 
from the languid smile with which she recognized 
their presence. Upon Mannering, however, the cloud 
seemed already to have fallen. His eyebrows were 
set in a frown. He had the appearance of a man in 
some manner perplexed. He carried two telegrams, 
which he handed over to Borrowdean. 

“A boy on a bicycle,” he remarked, “is waiting for 
answers. Two telegrams at once is a thing wholly 
unheard of here, Borrowdean. You really ought not 
to have disturbed our postal service to such an 
extent.” 

Borrowdean smiled as he tore them open. 

“I think,” he said, “that I can guess their contents. 
Yes, I thought so. Can you send me to the station, 
Mannering?” 

“I can — if it is necessary,” Mannering answered. 
“Must you really go?” 


26 


A LOST LEADER 


Borrowdean nodded. 

“I must be in the House to-night,” he said, a little 
wearily. “ Rochester is going for them again.” 

“You didn’t take a pair?” Mannering asked. 

“It isn’t altogether that,” Borrowdean answered, 
“though Heaven knows we can’t spare a single vote 
just now. Rochester wants me to speak. We are a 
used-up lot, and no mistake. We want new blood, 
Mannering!” 

“I trust that the next election,” Mannering said, 
“may supply you with it. Will you walk round 
to the stables with me? I must order a cart for 
you.” 

“I shall be glad to,” Borrowdean answered. 

They walked side by side through the chestnut 
grove. Borrowdean laid his hand upon his friend’s 
arm. 

“Mannering,” he said, slowly, “am I to take it that 
you have spoken your last word? I am to write my 
mission down a failure?” 

“A failure without doubt, so far as regards its 
immediate object,” Mannering assented. “For the 
rest, it has been very pleasant to see you again, 
and I only wish that you could spare us a few more 
days.” 

Borrowdean shook his head. 

“We are better apart just now, Mannering,” he 
said, “for I tell you frankly that I do not understand 
your present attitude towards life — your entire absence 
of all sense of moral responsibility. Are you indeed 
willing to be written down in history as a philanderer 
in great things, to loiter in your flower gardens, w T hilst 
other men fight the battle of life for you and your 


WANTED— A POLITICIAN 


27 


fellows? Persist in your refusal to help us, if you will, 
Mannering, but before I go you shall at least hear the 
truth.” 

Mannering smiled. 

“Be precise, my dear friend. I shall hear your view 
of the truth!” 

“I do not accept the correction,” Borrowdean an- 
swered, quickly. “There are times when a man can 
make no mistake, and this is one of them. You shall 
hear the truth from me this afternoon, and when your 
days here have been spun out to their limit — your 
days of sybaritic idleness — you shall hear it again, 
only it will be too late. You are fighting against 
Nature, Mannering. You were born to rule, to be 
master over men. You have that nameless gift of 
genius — power — the gift of swaying the minds and 
hearts of your fellow men. Once you accepted your 
destiny. Your feet were firmly planted upon the great 
ladder. You could have climbed — where you would.” 

A curious quietness seemed to have crept over Man- 
nering. When he answered, his voice seemed to rise 
scarcely above a whisper. 

“My friend,” he said, “it was not worth while!” 

Borrowdean was almost angry. 

“Not worth while,” he repeated, contemptuously. 
“Is it worth while, then, to play golf, to linger in 
your flower gardens, to become a dilettante student, 
to dream away your days in the idleness of a purely 
enervating culture? What is it that I heard you your- 
self say once — that life apart from one’s fellows must 
always lack robustness. You have the instincts of the 
creator, Mannering. You cannot stifle them. Some 
day the cry of the world to its own children will find 


28 


A LOST LEADER 


its echo in your heart, and it may be too late. For 
sooner or later, my friend, the place of all men on earth 
is filled.” 

J For a moment that somewhat cynical restraint which 
seemed to divest of enthusiasm Borrowdean’s most 
earnest words, and which militated somewhat against 
his reputation as a public speaker, seemed to have 
fallen from him. Mannering, recognizing it, answered 
him gravely enough, though with no less decision. 

“If you are right, Borrowdean,” he said, “the suf- 
fering will be mine. Come, your time is short now. 
Perhaps you had better make your adieux to my niece 
and Mrs. Handsell.” 

They all came out into the drive to see him start. 
A curious change had come over the bright spring day. 
A grey sea-fog had drifted inland, the sunlight was 
obscured, the larks were silent. Borrowdean shivered 
a little as he turned up his coat-collar. 

“So Nature has her little caprices, even — in para- 
dise!” he remarked. 

“It will blow over in an hour,” Mannering said. 
“A breath of wind, and the whole thing is gone.” 

Borrowdean’s farewells were of the briefest. He 
made no furthur allusion to the object of his visit. He 
departed as one who had been paying an afternoon 
call more or less agreeable. Clara waved her hand 
until he was out of sight, then she turned somewhat 
abruptly round and entered the house. Mannering 
and Mrs. Handsell remained for a few moments in 
the avenue, looking along the road. The sound of 
the horse’s feet could still be heard, but the trap 
itself was long since invisible. 

“The passing of your friend,” she remarked, quietly, 


WANTED— A POLITICIAN 


29 


“is almost allegorical. He has gone into the land of 
ghosts — or are we the ghosts, I wonder, who loiter 
here?” 

Mannering answered her without a touch of levity. 
He, too, was unusually serious. 

“We have the better part,” he said. “Yet Borrow- 
dean is one of those men who know very well how to 
play upon the heartstrings. A human being is like 
a musical instrument to him. He knows how to find 
out the harmonies or strike the discords.” 

She turned away. 

“I am superstitious,” she murmured, with a little 
shiver. “I suppose that it is this ghostly mist, and 
the silence which has come with it. Yet I wish that 
your friend had stayed away from Blakely!” 

Upstairs from her window Clara also was gazing 
along the road where Borrowdean had disappeared. 
And Borrowdean himself was puzzling over a third 
telegram which Mannering had carelessly passed on 
to him with his own, and which, although it was 
clearly addressed to Mannering, he had, after a few 
minutes’ hesitation, opened. It had been handed in 
at the Strand Post-office. 

“ I must see you this week. — Blanche.” 

A few hours later, on his arrival in London, Borrow- 
dean repeated this message to Mannering from the 
same post-office, and quietly tearing up the original 
went down to the House. 

“I cannot tell,” he reported to his chief, “whether 
we have succeeded or not. In a fortnight or less we 
shall know.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE DUCHESS ASKS A QUESTION 

C LARA stepped through the high French win- 
dow, and with skirts a little raised crossed the 
lawn. Lindsay, who was following her, stopped to 
light a cigarette. 

“ We’re getting frightfully modern,’ ’ she remarked, 
turning and waiting for him. “Mrs. Handsell and I 
ought to have come out here, and you and uncle ought 
to have stayed and yawned at one another over the 
dinner-table.” 

“You have an excellent preceptress — in modernity,” 
he remarked. “May I?” 

“If you mean smoke, of course you may,” she 
answered. “But you may not say or think horrid 
things about my best friend. She’s a dear, wonder- 
ful woman, and I’m sure uncle has not been like the 
same man since she came.” 

“I’m glad you appreciate that,” he answered. “Do 
you honestly think he’s any the better for it?” 

“I think he’s immensely improved,” she answered. 
“He doesn’t grub about by himself nearly so much, 
and he’s had his hair cut. I’m sure he looks years 
younger.” 

“Do you think that he seems quite as contented?” 
1 1 Contented ! ’ ’ she repeated, scornf ully . ' ‘ That ’ s j ust 
like you, Richard. He hasn’t any right to be contented. 
No one has. It is the one absolutely fatal state.” 


THE DUCHESS ASKS A QUESTION 31 

He stretched himself out upon the seat, and 
frowned. 

“ You’re picking up some strange ideas, Clara," he 
remarked. 

“Well, if I am, that's better than being contented 
to all eternity with the old ones," she replied. “Mrs. 
Handsell is doing us all no end of good. She makes 
us think! We all ought to think, Richard." 

“What on earth for?" 

“You are really hopeless," she murmured. “So 
bucolic — " 

“Thanks," he interrupted. “I seem to recognize 
the inspiration. I hate that woman." 

“My dear Richard!" she exclaimed. 

“Well, I do!" he persisted. “When she first came 
she was all right. That fellow Borrowdean seems to 
have done all the mischief." 

“Poor Sir Leslie!" she exclaimed, demurely. I 
thought him so delightful." 

“Obviously," he replied. “I didn't. I hate a fel- 
low who doesn't do things himself, and has a way 
of looking on which makes you feel a perfect idiot. 
Neither Mr. Manner ing nor Mrs. Handsell — nor you 
— have been the same since he was here." 

“I gather," she said, softly, “that you do not find 
us improved." 

“I do not," he answered, stolidly. “Mrs. Handsell 
has begun to talk to you now about London, of the 
theatres, the dressmakers, Hurlingham, Ranelagh, 
race meetings, society, and all that sort of rot. She 
talks of them very cleverly. She knows how to make 
the tinsel sparkle like real gold." 

She laughed softly. 


32 


A LOST LEADER 


“ You are positively eloquent, Richard,” she declared. 
“Do go on!” 

“Then she goes for your uncle,” he continued, with- 
out heeding her interruption. “She speaks of Parlia- 
ment, of great causes, of ambition, until his eyes are 
on fire. She describes new pleasures to you, and you 
sit at her feet, a mute worshipper! I can’t think 
why she ever came here. She’s absolutely the wrong 
sort of woman for a quiet country place like this. I 
wish I’d never let her the place.” 

“You are a very foolish person,” she answered. 
“She came here simply because she was weary of 
cities and wanted to get as far away from them as 
possible. Only last night she said that she would 
be content never to breathe the air of a town again.” 

Lindsay tossed his cigarette away impatiently. 

“Oh, I know exactly her way of saying that sort of 
thing!” he exclaimed. “A moment later she would 
be describing very cleverly, and a little regretfully, 
some wonderful sight or other only to be found in 
London.” 

“Really,” she declared, “I am getting afraid of you. 
You are more observant than I thought.” 

“There is one gift, at least,” he answered, “which 
we country folk are supposed to possess. We know 
truth when we see it. But I am saying more than I 
have any right to. I don’t want to make you angry 
Clara!” 

She shook her head. 

“You won’t do that,” she said. “But I don’t think 
you quite understand. Let me tell you something. 
You know that I am an orphan, don’t you? I do not 
remember my father at all, and I can only just remem- 


THE DUCHESS ASKS A QUESTION 33 

ber my mother. I was brought up at a pleasant but 
very dreary boarding-school. I had very few friends, 
and no one came to see me except my uncle, who was 
always very kind, but always in a desperate hurry. 

I stayed there until I was seventeen. Then my uncle 
came and fetched me, and brought me straight here. 
Now that is exactly what my life has been. What do 
you think of it?” 

“Very dull indeed,” he answered, frankly. 

She nodded. 

“I have never been in London at all,” she continued. 
“I really only know what men and women are like 
from books, or the one or two types I have met 
around here. Now, do you think that that is enough 
to satisfy one? Of course it is very beautiful here, I 
know, and sometimes when the sun is shining and the 
birds singing and the sea comes up into the creeks, 
well, one almost feels content. But the sun doesn’t 
aways shine, Richard, and there are times when I am 
right down bored, and I feel as though I’d love to 
draw my allowance from uncle, pack my trunk, and 
go up to London, on my own!” 

He laughed. Somehow all that she had said had 
sounded so natural that some part of his uneasiness 
was already passing away. 

“Yours,” he admitted, “is an extreme case. I 
really don’t know why your uncle has never taken 
you up for a month or so in the season.” 

“We have lived here for four years,” she said, “and 
he has never once suggested it. He goes himself, 
of course, sometimes, but I am quite sure that he 
doesn’t enjoy it. For days before he fidgets about 
and looks perfectly miserable, and when he comes ^ 


34 


A LOST LEADER 


back he always goes off for a long walk by himself. 
I am perfectly certain that for some reason or other 
he hates going. Yet he seems to have been every- 
where, to know every one. To hear him talk with 
Mrs. Handsell is like a new Arabian Nights to me.” 

He nodded. 

“Your uncle was a very distinguished man,” he said. 
“I was only at college then, but I remember what a 
fuss there was in all the papers when he resigned his 
seat.” 

“What did they say was the reason?” she asked, 
eagerly. 

“A slight disagreement with Lord Rochester, and 
ill-health.” 

“Absurd!” she exclaimed. “Uncle is as strong as 
a horse.” 

“Would you like him,” he asked, “to go back into 
political life?” 

Her eyes sparkled. 

“Of course I should.” 

“You may have your wish,” he said, a little sadly. 
“I don’t fancy he has been quite the same man since 
Sir Leslie Borrowdean was here, and Mrs. Handsell 
never leaves him alone for a moment.” 

She laughed. 

“You talk as though they were conspirators!” she 
exclaimed. 

“That is precisely what I believe them to be,” he 
answered, grimly. 

“Richard!” 

“Can’t help it,” he declared. “I will tell you some- 
thing that I have no right to tell you. Mrs. Handsell 
is not your friend’s real name.” 


THE DUCHESS ASKS A QUESTION 35 

“ Richard, how exciting!” she exclaimed. “Do tell 
me how you know.” 

“Her solicitors told mine so when she took the 
farm. ” 

“Not her real name? But — I wonder they let it 
to her.” 

“Oh, her references were all right,” he answered. 
“My people saw to that. I do not mean to insinuate 
for a moment that she had any improper reasons 
for calling herself Mrs. Handsell, or anything else 
she liked. The explanations given were quite satis- 
factory. But she has become very friendly with you 
and with your uncle, and I think that she ought to 
have told you both about it.” 

“Do you know her real name?” 

“No! It is not my affair. My solicitors knew, 
and they were satisfied. Perhaps I ought not to have 
told you this, but ” 

“Hush!” she said. “They are coming out. If 
you like you can take me down to the orchard wall, 
and we will watch the tide come in — ” 

Mannering came out alone and looked around. The 
full moon was creeping into the sky. The breath of 
wind which shook the leaves of the tall elm trees that 
shut in his little demesne from the village, was soft, 
and, for the time of year, wonderfully mild. Below, 
through the orchard trees, were faint visions of the 
marshland, riven with creeks of silvery sea. He turned 
back towards the room, where red-shaded lamps still 
stood upon the white tablecloth, a curiously artificial 
daub of color after the splendour of the moonlit land. 

“The night is perfect,” he exclaimed. “Do you 
need a wrap, or are you sufficiently acclimatized?” 


36 


A LOST LEADER 


She came out to him, tall and slender in her black 
dinner gown, the figure of a girl, the pale, passionate 
face of a woman, to whom every moment of life had 
its own special and individual meaning. Her eyes 
were strangely bright. There was a tenseness about 
her manner, a restraint in her tone, which seemed to 
speak of some emotional crisis. She passed out into 
the quiet garden, in itself so exquisitely in accordance 
with this sleeping land, and even Mannering was at 
once conscious of some alien note in these old-world 
surroundings which had long ago soothed his ruffled 
nerves into the luxury of repose. 

“A wrap!” she murmured. “How absurd! Come 
and let us sit under the cedar tree. Those young 
people seem to have wandered off, and I want to talk 
to you. ” 

“I am content to listen,” he answered. “It is a 
night for listeners, this!” 

“I want to talk,” she continued, “and yet — the 
words seem difficult. These wonderful days! How 
quickly they seem to have passed.” 

“There are others to follow,” he answered, smiling. 
“That is one of the joys of life here. One can count 
on things!” 

“Others for you!” she murmured. “You have 
pitched your tent. I came here only as a wanderer.” 

“But scarcely a month ago,” he exclaimed, “you 
too ” 

“Don’t!” she interrupted. “A month ago it seemed 
to me possible that I might live here always. I felt 
myself growing young again. I believed that I had 
severed all the ties which bound me to the days which 
have gone before. I was wrong. It was the sort of 


THE DUCHESS ASKS A QUESTION 37 

folly which comes to one sometimes, the sort of folly 
for which one pays.” 

His face was almost white in the moonlight. His 
deep-set grey eyes were fixed upon her. 

“You were content — a month ago,” he said. “You 
have been in London for two days, and you have 
come back a changed woman. Why must you think 
of leaving this place? Why need you go at all?” 

“My friend,” she said, softly, “I think that you know 
why. It is very beautiful here, and I have never been 
happier in all my life. But one may not linger all 
one’s days in the pleasant places. One sleeps through 
the nights and is rested, but the days — ah, they are 
different.” 

“I cannot reason with you,” he said. “You are too 
vague. Yet — you say that you have been contented 
here.” 

“I have been happy,” she murmured. 

“Then you must speak more plainly,” he insisted, 
a note of passion throbbing in his hoarse tones. “I 
ask you again — why do you talk of going back, like a 
city slaite whose days of holiday are over? What is 
there in the world more beautiful than the gifts the 
gods shower on us here? We have the sun, and the 
sea, and the wind by day and by night — this! It is 
the flower garden of life. Stay and pluck the roses 
with me.” 

“Ah, my friend,” she murmured, “if that were 
possible!” 

She sank down into the seat under the cedar tree. 
Her hands were clasped nervously together, her head 
was downcast. 

“Your words,” she continued, her voice sinking 


38 


A LOST LEADER 


almost to a whisper, yet lacking nothing in distinct- 
ness, “are like wine. They mount to the head, they 
intoxicate, they tempt! And yet all the time one 
knows that it is not possible. Surely you yourself — 
in your heart — must know it!” 

“Not I!” he answered, fiercely. “The world would 
have claimed me if it could, but I laughed at it. Our 
destinies are our own. With our own fingers we mould 
and shape them.” 

“There is the little voice,” she said, “the little voice, 
which rings even through our dreams. Life — actual, 
militant life, I mean — may have its vulgarities, its 
weariness and its disappointments, but it is, after all, 
the only place for men and women. The battle may 
be sordid, and the prizes tinsel — yet it is only the 
cowards who linger without.” 

“Then let you and me be cowards,” he answered. 
“We shall at least be happy.” 

She shook her head a little sadly. 

“I doubt it,” she answered. “Happiness is a gift, 
not a prize. It comes seldom enough to those who 
seek it.” 

He laughed scornfully. 

“I am not a seeker,” he cried. “I possess. It seems 
to me that all the beautiful things of life are here to- 
night. Listen! Do you hear the sea, the full tide 
sweeping softly up into the land, a long drawn out 
undernote of breathless harmonies, the rustling of 
leaves there in the elm trees, the faint night wind, like 
the murmuring of angels? Lift your head! Was 
there anything ever sweeter than the perfume from 
that hedge of honeysuckle? What can a man want 
more than these things — and ” 


THE DUCHESS ASKS A QUESTION 39 

“Go on!” 

“And the woman he loves! There, I have said it. 
Useless words enough! You know very well that I 
love you. I meant to have said nothing just yet, 
but who could help it — on such a night as this! 
Don’t talk of going away, Berenice. I want you here 
always.” 

She held herself away from him. Her face was 
deathly white now. Her eyes questioned him fiercely. 

“Before I answer you. You were in London last 
week? ” 

“Yes,” 

“Why?” 

“I had business.” 

“In Chelsea, in Merton Street?” 

He gave a little gasp. 

“ What do you know about that? ” he asked, almost 
roughly. 

“You were seen there, not for the first time. The 
person whom you visited — I have heard about. She 
is somewhat notorious, is she not?” 

He was very quiet, pale to the lips. A strange, 
hunted expression had crept into his eyes. 

“I want to know what took you there. Am I 
asking too much? Remember that you have asked 
me a good deal.” 

“Has Borrowdean anything to do with this?” he 
demanded. 

“I have known Sir Leslie Borrowdean for many 
years,” she answered, “and it is quite true that we 
have discussed certain matters — concerning you.” 

“You have known Sir Leslie Borrowdean for many 
years,” he repeated. “Yet you met here as strangers.” 


40 


A LOST LEADER 


“Sir Leslie divined my wishes,” she answered. “He 
knew that it was my wish to spend several months 
away from everybody, and, if possible, unrecognized. 
Perhaps I had better make my confession at once. My 
name is not Mrs. Handsell. I am the Duchess of 
Lenchester.” 

Mannering stood as though turned to stone. The 
woman watched him eagerly. She waited for him to 
speak — in vain. A sudden mist of tears blinded her. 
She closed her eyes. When she opened them Mannering 
was gone. 


CHAPTER V 


THE HESITATION OF MR. MANNERING 

HE peculiar atmosphere of the room, heavy with 



A the newest perfume from the Burlington Arcade, 
and the scent of exotic flowers, at no time pleasing to 
him, seemed more than usually oppressive to Mannering 
as he fidgetted about waiting for the woman whom he 
had come to see. He was conscious of a restless longing 
to open wide the windows, take the flowers from their 
vases, throw them into the street, and poke out the fire. 
The little room, with all its associations, its almost 
pathetic attempts at refinement, its furniture which 
reeked of the Tottenham Court Road, was suddenly 
hateful to him. He detested his presence there, and 
its object. He was already in a state of nervous dis- 
pleasure when the door opened. 

The girl who entered seemed in a sense as ill in 
accord with such surroundings as himself. She was 
plainly dressed in black, her hair brushed back, her 
complexion pale, her eyes brilliant with a not alto- 
gether natural light. She regarded him with a curious 
mixture of fear and welcome. The latter, however, 
triumphed easily. She came towards him with out- 
stretched hand and a delightful smile. 

“You — so soon again !” she exclaimed. “Were 
there — so many mis takes ?’ 7 

Mannering’s face softened. He was half ashamed 
of his irritation. He answered her kindly. 


42 


A LOST LEADER 


“Scarcely any, Hester/’ he answered. “Your typing 
is always excellent.” 

Her anxiety was only half allayed. 

“There is nothing else wrong?” she demanded, 
breathlessly. 

“Nothing whatever,” he assured her. “Where is 
your mother?” 

She sat down. The light died out of her face. 

“Out!” she answered. “Gone to Brighton for the 
day. What do you want with her?” 

“Nothing,” he answered,' gravely. “I only wanted 
to know whether we were likely to be interrupted.” 

“She will not be in for some time,” the girl answered. 
“She is almost certain to stay down there and dine.” 

He nodded. 

“Hester,” he asked, “do you know any one — a man 
named Borrowdean? Sir Leslie Borrowdean?” 

She shook her head a little doubtfully. 

“I have heard mother speak of him,” she said. 

“He is a friend of hers, then?” 

“She met him at a supper party at the Savoy a few 
weeks ago,” she answered. 

“And since?” 

“I believe so! She talks about him a great deal. 
Why do you ask me this?” 

“I cannot tell you, Hester,” he said, gravely. “By 
the bye, do you think that she is likely to have men- 
tioned my name to him?” 

The girl flushed up to her eyebrows. 

“I — I don’t know! I am sorry,” she faltered. “You 
know what mother is. If any one asked her questions 
she would be more than likely to answer them. I do 
hope that she has not been making mischief.” 


HESITATION OF MR. MANNERING 43 


He left her anxiety unrelieved. For some few 
moments he did not speak at all. Already he fancied 
that he could see the whole pitiful little incident — 
Borrowdean, diplomatic, genial, persistent, the woman 
a fool, fashioned to his own making; himself the 
sacrifice. Yet the meaning of it all was dark to him. 

She moved over to his side. Her eyes and tone were 
full of appeal. She sat close to him, her long white 
fingers nervously interlocked. 

“I am afraid of you. More afraid than ever to- 
day,” she murmured. “You look stern, and I don’t 
understand why you have come.” 

“To see you, Hester,” he answered, with a sudden 
impulse of kindness. 

“Ah, no!” she interrupted, choking back a little 
sob. “We both know so well that it is not that. It 
is pity which brings you, pity and nothing else. You 
know very well what a difference it makes to me. If 
I have your work to do, and a letter sometimes, and 
see you now and then, I can bear everything. But 
it is not easy. It is never easy!” 

“Of course it is not,” he assented. “Hester, have 
you thought over what I said to you last time I was 
here?” 

She shook her head. 

“What is the use of thinking?” she asked, quietly. 
“I could not leave her.” 

“You mean that she would not let you go?” Man- 
nering asked. 

“No! It is not that,” the girl answered. “Some- 
times I think that she would be glad. Ik is not that.” 

He nodded gravely. 

“I understand. But ” 


44 


A LOST LEADER 


“If you understand, please do not say any more.” 

“But I must, Hester,” he persisted. “There is no 
one else to give you advice. I know all that you can 
tell me, and I say that this is no fitting home for you. 
Your mother’s friends are not fit friends for you. She 
has chosen her way in life, and she will not brook any 
interference. You can do no good by remaining with 
her. On the contrary, you are doing yourself a great 
deal of harm. I am old enough to be your father, 
child. Wise enough, I hope, to be your adviser. You 
shall be my secretary, and come and live at Blakely.” 

A faint flush stole into her anaemic cheeks. One 
realized then that under different conditions she 
might have been pretty. Her face was no longer 
expressionless, 

“You are so kind,” she said, softly. “I shall always 
like to think of this. And yet — it is impossible.” 

“Why?” 

She hesitated. 

“It is difficult to explain,” she said. “But my being 
here makes a difference. I found it out once when I 
went away for a week. Some of — of mother’s friends, 
came to the house then whom she will not have when I 
I am here. If I were away altogether — oh, I can’t 
explain, but I would not dare to go.” 

Mannering seemed to have much to say — and said 
nothing. This queer, pale-faced girl, with her earnest 
eyes and few simple words, had silenced him. She 
was right — right at least from her own point of view. 
A certain sense of shame suddenly oppressed him. He 
was acutely conscious of his only half-admitted reason 
for this visit. He had argued for himself. It was 
his own passionate desire to free himself from associa- 


HESITATION OF MR. MANNERING 45 

tions that were little short of loathsome which had 
prompted this visit. And then what he had dreaded 
most of all happened. As they sat facing one another 
in the silent, half-darkened room, Mannering trying 
to bring himself into accord with half-admitted but 
repugnant convictions, she watching him hopelessly, 
the tinkle of a hansom bell sounded outside. The 
sudden stopping of a horse, the rattle of a latchkey, 
and she was in the room. Mannering rose to his feet 
with a little exclamation. 

The woman stood and looked in upon them. She 
wore a pink cloth gown, a flower-garlanded hat, a white 
coaching veil, beneath which her features were indis- 
tinguishable. She brought with her a waft of strong 
perfume. Her figure was a living suggestion of the 
struggle between maturity and the corsetiere. Before 
she spoke she laughed — not altogether pleasantly. 

“You here again!” she exclaimed to Mannering. 
“Upon my word! I’m not a ghost! Hester, go and 
see about some tea, and a brandy and soda. Billy 
Foa brought me up on his motor, and I’m half choked 
with dust.” 

The girl rose obediently and quitted the room. The 
woman untwisted her veil, drew out the pins from her 
hat, and threw both upon the sofa. Then she turned 
suddenly upon Mannering. 

“Look here,” she said, “the last twice you’ve been 
here you seem to have carefully chosen times when 
I am out. I don’t understand it. It can’t be that 
you want to see that chit of a girl of mine. Why 
don’t you come when I ask you? Why do you act 
as though I were something to be avoided?” 

Mannering rose to his feet. 


46 


A LOST LEADER 


“I came to-day without knowing where you were,” 
he answered, “but I will admit that I wished to see 
Hester.” 

“What for?” 

“I have asked her to come and live at Blakely 
with my niece and myself. She is an excellent typist, 
and I require a secretary.” 

The woman looked at him angrily. Without her 
veil she displayed features not in themselves unattrac- 
tive, but a complexion somewhat impaired by the 
use of cosmetics. The powder upon her cheeks was 
even then visible. 

“What about me?” she asked, sharply. 

Mannering looked her steadily in the face. 

“I do not think,” he said, “that such a life would 
suit you.” 

She was an angry woman, and she did not become 
angry gracefully. 

“You mean that I’m not good enough for you and 
your friends in the country. That’s what you mean, 
isn’t it? And I should like to know, if I’m not, whose 
fault it is. Tell me that, will you?” 

Mannering flinched, though almost imperceptibly. 

“I meant simply what I said,” he said. “Blake- 
ly would not suit you at all. We have few friends 
there, and our simple life would not attract you in 
the slightest. With Hester it is different. She would 
have her work, in which she takes some interest, and 
I believe the change would be in every way good for 
her.” 

“Well, she shan’t come,” the woman said, throw- 
ing herself into a chair, and regarding him insolently. 
“I’m not going to live all alone— and be talked about. 


HESITATION OF MR. MANNERING 47 

Don’t stare at me like that, Lawrence. I’m the child’s 
mother, am I not?” 

“It is because you are her mother,” he said, quietly, 
“that I thought you might be glad to find a suitable 
home for her.” 

“What’s good enough for me ought to be good 
enough for her,” she answered, doggedly. 

Mannering was silent for a moment. This woman 
seemed to belong to a different world from that with 
whose denizens he was in any way familiar. Years 
of isolation, and a certain epicureanism of taste, from 
which necessity had never taken the fine edge, had 
made him a little intolerant. He could see nothing 
that was not absolutely repulsive in this woman, 
whose fine eyes were seeking even now to attract his 
admiration. She was making the best of herself. 
She had chosen the darkest corner of the room, and 
her pose was not ungraceful. Her skirts were skilfully 
raised to show just as much as possible of her long, 
slender foot, with the patent shoes and silver buckles. 
She knew that her ankles were above reproach, and 
her dress becoming. A dozen men had paid her com- 
pliments during the day, yet she knew that every 
admiring glance, every whispered word which had 
come to her to-day, or for many days past, would 
count for nothing if only she could pierce for a single 
moment the unchanging coldness of the man who sat 
watching her now with the face of a Sphynx. A slow 
tide of passion welled up in her heart. Was not he a 
man and free, and was not she a woman? It was not 
much she asked from him, no pledge, no bondage. 
His kindness only, she told herself, was all she craved. 
She wanted him to look at her as other men looked 


48 


A LOST LEADER 


at her. Who was he that he should set himself on 
a pedestal? Perhaps he had grown shy from the rust 
of his country life, the slow drifting apart from the 
world of men and women. Perhaps — she rose swiftly 
to her feet and crossed the room. 


CHAPTER VI 


SACRIFICE 

S HE leaned over him, one hand on the back of his 
chair, the other seeking in vain for his. 

“ Lawrence/' ’ she said, “you grow colder and more 
unkind every day. What have I done to change you 
so? I am a foolish woman, I know, but there are 
things which I cannot forget.” 

He rose at once to his feet, and stood apart 
from her. 

“I thought,” he said, “I believed that we under- 
stood one another.” 

She laughed softly. 

“I am very sure that I do not understand you,” she 
said. “And as for you — I do not believe that you 
have ever understood any woman. There was a time, 
Lawrence ” 

His impassivity was gone. He threw out his hands. 
“Remember,” he said, “there is a promise between 
us. Don’t break it. Don’t dare to break it!” 

She looked at him curiously. A new idea concerning 
this man and his avoidance of her crept into her mind. 
It was at least consoling to her vanity, and it left her 
a chance. She had roused him too, at last, and that 
was worth something. 

“Why not?” she asked, moving a step towards him. 
“It was a foolish promise. It has done neither of us 
any good. It has spoilt a part of my life. Why 


50 


A LOST LEADER 


should I keep silence, and let it go on to the end? 
Do you know what it has made of me, this promise?” 

He shrank back. 

“ Don’t! I have done all I could!” 

“All you could!” she repeated, scornfully. “You 
drew a diagram of your duty, and you have moved 
like a machine along the lines. You talk like a Pharisee, 
Lawrence! Come! You knew me years ago! Do 
you find me changed? Tell me the truth.” 

“Yes,” he admitted, “you are changed.” 

She nodded. 

“You admit that. Perhaps, perhaps,” she con- 
tinued more slowly, “there are things about me now 
of which you don’t approve. My friends are a little 
fast, I go out alone, I daresay people have said things. 
There, you see I am very frank. I mean to be! I 
mean you to know that whatever I am, the fault is 
yours.” 

“You are as God or the Devil made you,” he 
answered, hardly. “You are what you would have 
become, in any case.” 

“Lawrence!” 

Already he hated the memory of his words. True 
or not, they were spoken to a woman who was cower- 
ing under them as under a lash. He was at a dis- 
advantage now. If she had met him with anger they 
might have cried quits. But he had seen her wince, 
seen her sudden pallor, and it was not a pleasant sight. 

“Forgive me,” he said. “I do not know quite 
what I am saying. You have broken a compact 
which I had hoped might have lasted all our days. 
Let us be better friends, if you will, but let us keep 
that promise which we made to one another.” 


SACRIFICE 


51 


“It was so many years ago,” she said, in a low 
tone. “I am afraid to think how many. It makes 
me lonely, Lawrence, to look ahead. I am afraid of 
growing old!” 

He looked at her steadily. Yes, the signs were 
there. She was a good-looking woman to-day, a 
handsome woman in some lights, but she had reached 
the limit. It was a matter of a few years at most, 

and then He stood with his hands behind his 

back. 

“It is a fear which we must all share,” he said, 
quietly. “The only antidote is work.” 

“Work!” she repeated, scornfully. “That is the 
man’s resource. What about us? What about me?” 

“It is no matter of sex,” he declared. “We all 
make our own choice. We are what we make of 
ourselves.” 

“It is not true,” she answered, bluntly. “Not with 
us, at any rate. We are what our menkind make of 
us. Oh, what cowards you all are.” 

“Cowards?” 

“Yes. You do what mischief you choose, and then 
soothe your conscience with platitudes. You will take 
hold of pleasure with both hands, but your shoulders 
are not broad enough for the pack of responsibility. 
Don’t look at me as though I were a mile off, Lawrence, 
as though this were simply an impersonal discussion. 
I am speaking to you — of you. You avoid me when- 
ever you can. I don’t often get a chance of speaking 
to you. You shall listen now. You live the life of a 
poet and a scholar, they tell me. You live in a beautiful 
home, you take care that nothing ugly or disturbing 
shall come near you. You are pleased with it, aren’t 


52 


A LOST LEADER 


you? You think yourself better than other men. 
Well, you are making a big mistake. A man doesn’t 
have to answer for his own life only. He has to carry 
the burden of the lives his influence has wrecked and 
spoilt. I know just what you think of me. I am a 
middle-aged woman, clinging to my youth and pleasures 
— the sort of pleasures for which you have a vast con- 
tempt. There isn’t an hour of my days of which you 
wouldn’t disapprove. I’m not your sort of woman at 
all. And yet I was* all right once, Lawrence, and 
what I am now ” she paused, “what I am now ” 

Hester came in, followed by a maid with the tea- 
tray. She looked from one to the other a little anx- 
iously. The atmosphere of the room seemed charged 
with electricity. Mannering’s face was grey. Her 
mother was nervously crumpling into a ball her tiny 
lace handkerchief. Mrs. Phillimore rose abruptly from 
her seat. 

“Have you got the brandy and soda, Hester?” she 
asked. 

“I’m afraid I forgot it, mother,” the girl answered. 
“Mayn’t I make you some Russian tea? I’ve had 
the lemon sliced.” 

The woman laughed, a little unnaturally. 

“What a dutiful daughter,” she exclaimed. “That’s 
right! I want looking after, don’t I? I’ll have the 
tea, Hester, but send it up to my room. I’m going to 
lie down. That wretched motoring has given me a 
headache, and I’m dining out to-night. Good-bye, 
Mr. Mannering, if I don’t see you again.” 

She nodded, without glancing in his direction, and 
left the room. The maid arranged the tea-tray and 
departed. Hester showed no signs of being aware 


SACRIFICE 


53 


that anything unusual had happened. She made a 
little desultory conversation. Mannering answered in 
monosyllables. 

When at last he put his cup down he rose to go. 

“You are quite sure, Hester,” he said. “You have 
made up your mind?” 

She, too, rose, and came over to him. 

“You know that I am right,” she answered, quietly. 
“The life you offer me would be paradise, but I dare 
not even think of it. I may not do any good here, 
perhaps I don’t, but I can’t come away.” 

“You are a true daughter of your sex,” he said, 
smiling. “The keynote of your life must be sacrifice.” 

“Perhaps we are not so unwise, after all,” she an- 
swered, “fori think that there are more happy women 
in the world than men.” 

“There are more, I think, who deserve to be, dear,” 
he answered, holding her hand for a moment. “Good- 
bye!” 

Mannering walked in somewhat abstracted fashion 
to the corner of the street, and signalled for a hansom. 
With his foot upon the step he hesitated. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE DUCHESS’S “AT HOME” 

HE perfect man/’ the Duchess murmured, as 



A she stirred her tea, “does not exist. I know a 
dozen perfect women, dear, dull creatures, and plenty 
of men who know how to cover up the flaw. But there 
is something in the composition of the male sex which 
keeps them always a little below the highest pinnacle.” 

“It is purely a matter of concealment,” her friend 
declared. “Women are cleverer humbugs than men.” 

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders. 

“I know your perfect woman!” he remarked, softly. 
“You search for her through the best years of your 
life, and when you have found her you avoid her. 
That,” he added, handing his empty cup to a footman, 
“is why I am a bachelor.” 

The Duchess regarded him complacently. 

“My dear Sir Leslie,” she said, “I am afraid you 
will have to find a better reason for your miserable 
state. The perfect woman would certainly have noth- 
ing to do with you if you found her.” 

“On the contrary,” he declared, confidently, “I am 
convinced that she would find me attractive.” 

The Duchess shook her head. 

“Your theory,” she declared, “is antiquated. Like 
and unlike do not attract. We seek in others the 
qualities which we strive most zealously to develop 
in ourselves. I know a case in point.” 


THE DUCHESS’S “AT HOME” 55 

“Good!” Sir Leslie remarked. “I like examples. 
The logic of them appeals to me.” 

The Duchess half closed her eyes. For a moment 
she was silent. She seemed to be listening to some- 
thing a long way off. Through the open windows of 
her softly shaded drawing-rooms, odourous with flowers, 
came the rippling of water falling from a fountain in 
the conservatory, the lazy hum of a mowing machine 
on the lawn, the distant tinkling of a hansom bell in 
the Square. But these were not the sounds which for 
a moment had changed her face. 

“I myself,” she murmured, “am an example!” 

A woman who had risen to go sat down again. 

“Do go on, Duchess!” she exclaimed. “Anything 
in the nature of a personal confession is so fascinating, 
and you know you are such an enigma to all of us.” 

“Am I?” she answered, smiling. “Then I am likely 
to remain so.” 

“A perfectly obvious person like myself,” the woman 
remarked, “is always fascinated by the unusual. But 
if you are really not going to give yourself away, 
Duchess, I am afraid I must move on. One hates to 
leave your beautifully cool rooms. Shall I see you 
to-night, I wonder, at Esholt House?” 

“Perhaps!” 

There were still many people in the room. Some 
fresh arrivals occupied his hostess’s attention, and 
Borrowdean, with a resigned shrug of the shoulders, 
prepared to depart. He had come, hoping for an 
opportunity to be alone for a few minutes with the 
Duchess, and himself a skilful tactician in such small 
matters, he could not but admire the way she had 
kept him at arm’s length. And then the opportunity 


56 


A LOST LEADER 


for a master stroke came. A servant sought him out 
with a card. A man of method, he seldom left his 
rooms without instructions as to where he was to be 
found. 

“The gentleman begged you to excuse his coming 
here, sir,” the man whispered, confidentially, “but 
he is returning to the country this evening, and was 
anxious to see you. He is quite ready to wait your 
convenience.” 

Borrowdean held the card in his hand, scrutinizing 
it with impassive face. Was this a piece of unparal- 
leled good fortune, or simply a trick of the fates to 
tempt him on to catastrophe? With that wonderful 
swiftness of thought which was part of his mental 
equipment he balanced the chances — and took his 
risk. 

“I should be glad,” he said, looking the servant in 
the face, “if you would show the gentleman up here 
as an ordinary visitor. I should like to find you down 
stairs when I come out. You understand?” 

“Perfectly, sir,” the man answered, and withdrew. 

Mannering had no idea whose house he was in. 
The address Borrowdean’s servant had given him had 
been simply 81, Grosvenor Square. Nevertheless, he 
was conscious of a little annoyance as he followed the 
servant up the broad stairs. He would much have 
preferred waiting until Borrowdean had concluded 
his call. He remembered his grey travelling clothes, 
and all his natural distaste for social amenities returned 
with unabated force as he neared the reception-rooms 
and heard the softly modulated rise and fall of feminine 
voices, the swishing of silks and muslin, the faint per- 
fume of flowers and scents which seemed to fill the 


THE DUCHESS'S “AT HOME" 


57 


air. At the last moment he would have withdrawn, 
but his guide seemed deaf. His words passed unheeded. 
His name, very softly but very distinctly, had been 
announced. He had no option but to pass into the 
room and play the cards which fate and his friend 
had dealt him. 

Borrowdean rose to greet his friend. Mannering, 
not knowing who his hostess might be, and feeling 
absolutely no curiosity concerning her, confined his 
attention wholly to the man whom he had come to 
seek. 

“I did not wish to disturb you here, Borrowdean," 
he said, quickly, “but if your call is over, could you 
come away for a few minutes? I have a matter to 
discuss with you." 

Borrowdean smiled slightly, and laid his hand upon 
the other’s shoulder. 

“By all means, Mannering," he answered. “But 
since you have discovered our little secret, don’t you 
think that you had better speak to our hostess?” 

Mannering was puzzled, but his eyes followed Bor- 
rowdean’ s slight gesture. Berenice, who at the sound 
of his voice had suddenly abandoned her conversation 
and risen to her feet, was within a few feet of him. 
A sudden light swept into Mannering’s face. 

“You!" he exclaimed softly. 

Her hands went out towards him. Borrowdean, 
with an almost imperceptible movement, checked his 
advance. 

“So you see we are found out, after all, Duchess," 
he said, turning to her. “You have known Mrs. Hand- 
sell, Mannering, let me present you now to her other 
self. Duchess, you see that our recluse has come to 


58 


A LOST LEADER 


his senses at last. I must really introduce you form- 
ally: Mr. Mannering — the Duchess of Benches ter.” 

Berenice, arrested in her forward movement, watched 
Mannering’s face eagerly. So carefully modulated had 
been Borrowdean’s voice that no word of his had 
reached beyond their own immediate circle. It was as 
though a silent tableau were being played out between 
the three, and Mannering, to whom repression had 
become a habit, gave little indication of anything he 
might have felt. Borrowdean’s fixed smile betokened 
nothing but an ordinary interest in the introduction 
of two friends, and the Duchess’s back was turned 
towards her friends. They both waited for Manner- 
ing to speak. 

“This,” he said, slowly, “is a surprise! I had no 
idea when I called to see Borrowdean here, of the 
pleasure which was in store for me.” 

Borrowdean dropped his eyeglass. 

“Are you serious, my dear Mannering?” he exclaimed. 
“Do you mean to say that you came here ” 

“Only to see you,” Mannering interrupted. “That 
you should know perfectly well. I am sorry to hurry 
you out, but the few minutes’ conversation which I 
desired with you is of some importance, and my 
train leaves in an hour. I hope that you will par- 
don me,” he added, looking steadily at Berenice, “if 
I hurry away one of your guests.” 

She laughed quite in her natural manner. 

“I will forgive anything,” she said, “except that 
you should hurry away yourself so unceremoniously. 
Come and sit down near me. I want to talk to you 
about Blakeley.” 

She swept her gown on one side, disclosing a vacant 


THE DUCHESS’S “AT HOME” 


59 


place on the settee where she had been sitting. For 
a second her eyes said more to him than her courteous 
but half-careless words of invitation. Mannering made 
no movement forward. 

“I am sorry,” he said, “but it is impossible for me 
to stay!” 

She seemed to dismiss him and the whole subject 
with a careless little shrug of the shoulders, which was 
all the farewell she vouchsafed to either of them. A 
woman who had just entered seemed to absorb her 
whole attention. The two men passed out. 

Mannering spoke no word until they stood upon 
the pavement. Then he turned almost savagely upon 
his companion. 

“This is a trick of yours, I suppose!” he exclaimed. 
“Damn you and your meddling, Borrowdean. Why 
can’t you leave me and my affairs alone? No, I am 
not going your way. Let us separate here!” 

Borrowdean shook his head. 

“You are unreasonable, Mannering,” he said. “I 
have done only what I believe you were on your way 
to ask me to do. I have brought you and Berenice 
together again. It was for both your sakes. If there 
has been any misunderstanding between you, it would 
be better cleared up.” 

Mannering gripped his arm. 

“Let us go to your rooms, Borrowdean,” he said. 
“It is time we understood one another.” 

“Willingly!” Borrowdean said. “But your train?” 

“Let my train go,” Mannering answered. “There 
are some things I have to say to you.” 

Borrowdean called a hansom. The two men drove 
off together. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE MANNERING MYSTERY 

B ORROWDEAN was curter than usual, even abrupt. 

The calm geniality of his manner had departed. 
Pie spoke in short, terse sentences, and he had the 
air of a man struggling to subdue a fit of perfectly 
reasonable and justifiable anger. It was a carefully 
cultivated pose. He even refrained from his customary 
cigarette. 

“Look here, Mannering, ,, he said, “there are times 
when a few plain words are worth an hour’s conver- 
sation. Will you have them from me?” 

“Yes!” 

“This thing was started six months ago, soon after 
those two bye-elections in Yorkshire. Even the most 
despondent of us then saw that the Government could 
scarcely last its time. We had a meeting and we 
attempted to form on paper a trial cabinet. You 
know our weakness. We have to try to form a National 
party out of a number of men who, although they call 
themselves broadly Liberals, are as far apart as the 
very poles of thought. It was as much as they could 
do to sit in the same room together. From the open- 
ing of the meeting until its close, there was but one 
subject upon which every one was unanimous. That 
was the absolute necessity of getting you to come 
back to our aid.” 

“You flatter me,” Mannering said, with fine irony. 


THE MANNERING MYSTERY 


61 


“ You yourself/’ Borrowdean continued, without 
heeding the interruption, “ encouraged us. From the 
first pronouncement of this wonderful new policy you 
sprang into the arena. We were none of us ready. 
You were! It is true that your weapon was the pen, 
but you reached a great public. The country to-day 
considers you the champion of Free Trade.” 

“Pass on,” Mannering interrupted, brusquely. “All 
this is wasted time!” 

“A smaller meeting,” Borrowdean continued, “was 
held with a view of discussing the means whereby 
you could be persuaded to rejoin us. At that meet- 
ing the Duchess of Lenchester was present.” 

Mannering, who had been pacing the room, stopped 
short. He grasped the back of a chair, and turning 
round faced Borrowdean. 

“Well?” 

“You know what place the Duchess has held in the 
councils of our party since the Duke’s death,” Borrow- 
dean continued. “She has the political instinct. If 
she were a man she would be a leader. All the great 
ladies are on the other side, but the Duchess is more 
than equal to them all. She entertains magnificently, 
and with tact. She never makes a mistake. She is 
part and parcel of the Liberal Party. It was she who 
volunteered to make the first effort to bring you back.” 

Mannering turned his head. Apparently he was 
looking out of the window. 

“Her methods,” Borrowdean continued, “did not 
commend themselves to us, but beggars must not be 
choosers. Besides, the Duchess was in love with her 
own scheme. Such objections as we made were at 
once overruled.” 


62 


A LOST LEADER 


He paused, but Mannering said nothing. He was 
still looking out of the window, though his eyes saw 
nothing of the street below, or the great club buildings 
opposite. A scent of roses, lost now and then in the 
sal ter fragrance of the night breeze sweeping over the 
marshes, the magic of a wonderful, white-clad presence, 
the low words, the sense of a world apart, a world of 
speechless beauty. . . .What empty dreams! A palace 
built in a poet’s fancy upon a quicksand. 

“The Duchess,” Borrowdean continued, “undertook 
to discover from you what prospects there were, if 
any, of your return to political life. She took none 
of us into her confidence. We none of us knew what 
means she meant to employ. She disappeared. She 
communicated with none of us. We none of us had 
the least idea what had become of her. Time went 
on, and we began to get a little uneasy. We had a 
meeting and it was arranged that I should come 
down and see you. I came, I saw you, I saw the 
Duchess! The situation very soon became clear to 
me. Instead of the Duchess converting you, you had 
very nearly converted the Duchess.” 

“I can assure you ” Mannering began. 

“Let me finish,” Borrowdean pleaded. “I realized 
the situation at a glance. Your attitude I was not 
so much surprised at, but the attitude of the Duchess, 
I must confess, amazed me. I came to the conclusion 
that I had found my way into a forgotten corner of the 
world, where the lotos flowers still blossomed, and the 
sooner I was out of it the better. Now I think that 
brings us, Mannering, up to the present time.” 

Mannering turned from the window, out of which 
he had been steadfastly gazing. There was a strained 


THE MANNERING MYSTERY 


63 


look under his eyes, and little trace of the tan upon 
his cheeks. He had the air of a jaded and a weary 
man. 

“That is all, then,” he remarked. “I can still catch 
my train.” 

Borrowdean held out his hand. 

“No,” he said. “It is not all. This explanation 
I have made for your sake, Mannering, and it has 
been a truthful and full one. Now it is my turn. I 
have a few words to say to you on my own account.” 

Mannering paused. There was a note of some- 
thing unusual in Borrowdean’s voice, a portent of 
things behind. Mannering involuntarily straightened 
himself. Something was awakened in him which 
had lain dormant for many years — dormant since 
those old days of battle, of swift attack, of am- 
bushed defence and the clamour of brilliant tongues. 
Some of the old light flashed in his eyes. 

“Say it then — quickly!” 

“We speak of great things,” Borrowdean continued, 
“and the catching of a train is a trifle. My wardrobe 
and house are at your service. Don’t hurry me!” 

Mannering smiled. 

“Go on!” he said. 

“The men who count in this world,” Borrowdean de- 
clared, calmly lighting a cigarette, “are either thinkers 
of great thoughts or doers of great deeds. To the 
former belong the poets and the sentimentalists; to 
the latter the statesmen and the soldiers.” 

“What have I done,” Mannering murmured, “that 
I should be sent back to kindergarten? Platitudes 
such as this bore me. Let me catch my train.” 

“In a moment. To all my arguments and appeals, 


64 


A LOST LEADER 


to all my entreaties to you to realize yourself, to do 
your duty to us, to history and to posterity, you have 
replied in one manner only. You have spoken from 
the mushroom pedestal of the sentimentalist. Not a 
single word that has fallen from your lips has rung 
true. You have spoken as though your eyes were 
blind all the time to the letters of fire which truth has 
spelled out before you. Any further argument with you 
is useless, because you are not honest. You conceal 
your true position, and you adopt a false defence. 
Therefore, I relinquish my task. You can go and grow 
your roses, and think your poetry, and call it life 
if you will. But before you go I should like you 
to know that I, at least, am not deceived. , I do not 
believe in you, Mannering. I ask you a question, 
and I challenge you to answer it. What is your true 
reason for making a scrap-heap of your career?” 

“Are you my friend,” Mannering asked, quietly, 
“that you wish to pry behind the curtain of my 
life? If I have other reasons they concern myself 
alone.” 

Borrowdean shook his head. He had scored, but 
he took care to show no sign of triumph. 

“The issue is too great,” he said, “to be tried by 
the ordinary rules which govern social life. Will you 
presume that I am your friend, and let us consider 
the whole matter afresh together?” 

“I will not,” Mannering answered. “But I will do 
this. I will answer your question. There is another 
reason which makes my reappearance in public life im- 
possible. Not even your subtlety, Borrowdean, could 
remove it. I do not even wish it removed. I mean to 
live my own life, and not to be pitchforked back into 


THE MANNERING MYSTERY 65 

politics to suit the convenience of a few adventurous 
office-seekers, and the Duchess of Lenchester!” 

“Mannering!” 

But Mannering had gone. 

Borrowdean felt that this was a trying day. After 
a battle with Mannering he was face to face with an 
angry woman, to whose presence an imperious little 
note had just summoned him. Berenice was dressed 
for a royal dinner party, and she had only a few 
minutes to spare. Nevertheless she contrived to make 
them very unpleasant ones for Borrowdean. 

“The affair was entirely an accident,” he pleaded. 

“It was nothing of the sort/’ she answered, bluntly. 
“I know you too well for that. Your bringing him 
here without warning was an unwarrantable inter- 
ference with my affairs.” 

Borrowdean could hold his own with men, but 
Berenice in her own room, a wonderful little paradise 
of soft colourings and luxury so perfectly chosen that 
it was rather felt than seen; Berenice, in her marvellous 
gown, with the necklace upon her bosom and the 
tiara flashing in her dark hair, was an overwhelming 
opponent. Borrowdean was helpless. He could not 
understand the attack itself. He failed altogether to 
appreciate its tenour. 

“Forgive me,” he protested, “but I did not know 
that you had any plans. All that you told us on your 
return from Blakely was that you had failed. So 
far as you were concerned the matter seemed to me 
to be over, and with it, I imagined, your interest in 

Mannering. I brought him here ” 

“Well?” 


66 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Because I wished him to know who you were. I 
wished him to understand the improbability of your 
ever again returning to Blakely.” 

“You are telling the truth now, at any rate,” she 
remarked, curtly, “or what sounds like the truth. 
Why did you trouble in the matter at all? Where 
I have failed you are not likely to succeed.” 

Borrowdean smiled for the first time. 

“I have still some hopes of doing so,” he admitted. 

The Duchess glanced at the little Louis Seize time- 
piece, and hesitated. 

“You had better abandon them,” she said. “Law- 
rence Mannering may be wrong, or he may be right, 
but he believes in his choice. He has no ambition. 
You have no motive left to work upon.” 

Borrowdean shook his head. 

“You are wrong, Duchess,” he remarked, simply. 
“I never believed in Mannering’s sentimentality. 
To-day, with his own lips, he has confessed to me 
that another, an unbroached reason, stands behind 
his refusal!” 

“And he never told me,” the Duchess murmured, 
involuntarily. 

“Duchess,” Borrowdean answered, with a faint, 
cynical parting of the lips, “there are matters which 
a man does not mention to the woman in whose high 
opinion he aims at holding an exalted place.” 

There was a knock at the door. The Duchess’s 
maid entered, carrying a long cloak of glimmering 
lace and satin. 

The Duchess nodded. 

“I come at once, Hortense,” she said, in French. 
“Sir Leslie,” she added, turning towards him, “you 


THE MANNERING MYSTERY 


67 


are making a great mistake, and I advise you to be 
careful. You are one of those who think ill of all 
men. Such men as Lawrence Mannering belong to a 
race of human beings of whom you know nothing. 
I listened to you once, and I was a fool. You could 
as soon teach me to believe that you were a saint, as 
that Mannering had anything in his past or present 
life of which he was ashamed. Now, Hor tense.” 

Borrowdean walked off, still smiling. How simple 
half the world was. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE PUMPING OF MRS. PHILLIMORE 

H ESTER sprang to her feet eagerly as she heard 
the front door close, and standing behind the 
curtain she watched the man, who was already upon 
the pavement looking up and down the street for 
a hansom. His erect, distinguished figure was per- 
fectly familiar to her. It was Sir Leslie Borrowdean 
again. 

She resumed her seat in front of the typewriter, and 
touched the keys idly. In a few moments what she 
had been expecting happened. Her mother entered 
the room. 

Of her advent there were the usual notifications. 
An immense rustling of silken skirts, and an over- 
whelming odour of the latest Bond Street perfume. 
She flung herself into a chair, and regarded her daugh- 
ter with a complacent smile. 

“That delightful man has been to see me again,” 
she exclaimed. “I could scarcely believe it when 
Mary brought me his card. By the bye, where is 
Mary? I want her to try to take that stain out of my 
pink silk skirt. I shall have to wear it to-night.” 

“I will ring for her directly,” the girl answered. 
“So that was Sir Leslie Borrowdean, mother! Why 
did he come to see you again so soon?” 

“I haven't the least idea,” Mrs. Phillimore an- 
nounced, “but I thought it was very sweet of him. 


PUMPING OF MRS. PHILLIMORE 


69 


It seems all the more remarkable when one considers 
the sort of man he is. He’s very ambitious, you know, 
and devoted to politics.” 

“Where did you meet him first?” Hester asked. 

“It was at the Metropole at Bexhill,” Mrs. Philli- 
more answered. “We motored down there one day, 
and Lena Roberts told me that she heard him in- 
quiring who I was directly we came into the room. 
He joined our party at luncheon. Billy knew him 
slightly, so I made him go over and ask him.” 

Hester nodded, and seemed to be absorbed in some 
trifling defect of one of the keys of her typewriter. 

“Does he still ask you many questions about Mr. 
Mannering, mother?” she asked, quietly. 

“About Mr. Mannering!” Mrs. Phillimore repeated, 
with raised eyebrows. “Why, he scarcely ever men- 
tions his name. ” 

She took up a small mirror from the table by her 
side, and critically touched her hair. 

“About Mr. Mannering, indeed,” she repeated. 
“Why do you ask me such a question?” 

The girl hesitated. 

“Do you really want to know, mother?” she asked. 

“Of course!” 

“When Mr. Mannering was here last,” Hester said, 
“he asked me whether Sir Leslie Borrowdean was a 
friend of yours. I fancy that they are political ac- 
quaintances, but I don’t think that they are on very 
good terms.” 

Mrs. Phillimore laid down the mirror and yawned. 

“Well, there’s nothing very strange about that,” 
she declared. “Lawrence isn’t the sort to get on with 
many people, especially since he went and buried him- 


70 


A LOST LEADER 


self in the country. How pale you are looking, child. 
Why don’t you go and take a walk, instead of ham- 
mering away at that old typewriter? Any one would 
think that you had to do it for a living!” 

“I prefer to earn my own living,” the girl answered, 
“and I am not in the least tired. Tell me, are you 
going to see Sir Leslie Borrowdean again, mother?” 

The woman on the couch smoothed her hair once 
more, with a smile of gratification. 

“Sir Leslie has asked me to join a small party of 
friends for dinner at the Carlton this evening,” she 
announced. “Why on earth are you looking at me 
like that, child? You’re always grumbling that my 
friends are a fast lot, and don’t suit you. You can’t 
say anything against Sir Leslie.” 

The girl had risen to her feet. The trouble in her 
face was manifest. 

“Mother,” she said, slowly, “I wish that you were 
not going. I wish that you would have nothing what- 
ever to do with Sir Leslie Borrowdean.” 

“Good Heavens! — and why not?” the woman ex- 
claimed, suddenly sitting up. 

“I believe that he only asked you because he has 
an idea that you can tell him — something he wants 
to know about Mr. Mannering,” the girl answered, 
steadily. “I don’t think that you ought to go!” 

“Rubbish!” her mother answered, crossly. “I don’t 
believe that he has such an idea in his head. As 
though he couldn’t ask me for the sake of my company. 
And if he does ask me questions, I’m not obliged to 
answer them, am I? Do you think that I’m to be 
turned inside out like a schoolgirl?” 

“Sir Leslie is very clever, and he is very unscrupu- 


PUMPING OF MRS. PHILLIMORE 71 

lous,” the girl answered. “I wish you weren’t going! 
I believe that he wants to find out things.” 

Mrs. Phillimore frowned uneasily. 

“I’m not a fool!” she said. “He’s welcome to all 
he can get to know through me. I don’t know what 
you want to try to make me uncomfortable for, Hester, 
I’m sure. Sir Leslie has never betrayed the least 
curiosity about Mr. Mannering, and I don’t believe 
that he’s any such idea in his head. Upon my word 
I don’t see why you should think it impossible that 
Sir Leslie should come here just for the sake of im- 
proving an acquaintance which he found pleasant. 
That’s what he gave me to understand, and he put 
it very nicely too!” 

“I do not think that Sir Leslie is that sort of man, 
mother.” 

“And I don’t see how you know anything about 
it,” was the sharp response. “Ring the bell, please. 
I want to speak to Mary about my skirt.” 

“You mean to dine with him then, mother?” she 
asked, crossing the room towards the bell. 

“Of course! I’ve accepted. To-night and as often 
as he chooses to ask me. Now don’t upset me, please. 
I want to look my best to-night, and if I get angry 
my hair goes all out of curl.” 

The girl went back to her typewriter. She unfolded 
a sheet of copy, and placed it on the stand before her. 

“If you have made up your mind, mother, I suppose 
you will go,” she said. “Still— I wish you wouldn’t.” 

Mrs. Phillimore shrugged her shoulders. 

“If I did what you wished all the time,” she re- 
marked, pettishly, “I might as well drown myself at 
once. Can’t you understand, Hester?” she added, 


72 


A LOST LEADER 


with a sudden change of manner, “that I must do 
something to help me to forget? You don’t want to 
see me go mad, do you?” 

The girl turned half round in her chair. She was 
fronting a mirror. She caught a momentary impres- 
sion of herself — pallid, hollow-eyed, weary. She sighed. 

“There are other ways of forgetting,” she murmured. 
“There is work.” 

Her mother laughed scornfully. 

“You have chosen your way,” she said, “ let me 
choose mine. Turn round, Hester.” 

The girl obeyed her languidly. Her mother eyed 
her with an attention she seldom vouchsafed to any- 
thing. Her plain black frock was ill-fitting and worn. 
She wore no ribbon or jewellery or adornment of any 
sort. Negatively her face was not ill-pleasing, but 
her figure was angular, and her complexion almost 
anaemic. The woman on the couch represented other 
things. She was tastefully, though somewhat elabo- 
rately dressed. She wore chains and trinkets about 
her neck, rings upon her fingers, and in her face had 
begun in earnest the tragic struggle between an actual 
forty and presumptive twenty. She laughed again, a 
little hardly. 

“And you are my daughter,” she exclaimed. “You 
are one of the freaks of heredity. I’m perfectly certain 
you don’t belong to me, and as for him ” 

“Stop!” the girl cried. 

The woman nodded. 

“ Quite right,” she said. “I didn’t mean to mention 
him. I won’t again. But we are different, aren’t 
we? I wonder why you stay with me. I wonder you 
don’t go and make a home for yourself somewhere. 


PUMPING OF MRS. PHILLIMORE 


73 


I know that you hate all the things I do, and care for, 
and all my friends. Why don't you go away? It 
would be more comfortable for both of us!" 

“I have no wish to go away," the girl said, softly, 
“and I don't think that we interfere with one another 
very much, do we? This is the first time I have ever 
made a remark about any — of your friends. To-night 
I cannot help it. Sir Leslie Borrowdean is Mr. Man- 
nering’s enemy. I am sure of it! That is why I do 
not like the idea of your going out with him. It 
doesn’t seem to be right — and I am afraid." 

“Afraid! You little idiot!" 

“Sir Leslie Borrowdean is a very clever man," the 
girl said. “He is a very clever man, and he has been 
a lawyer. That sort of person knows how to ask 
questions — to — find out things." 

“Rubbish!" the woman remarked, sitting up on the 
couch. “Why do you try to make me so uncom- 
fortable, Hester? Sir Leslie may be very clever, but 
I am not exactly a fool myself." 

She spoke confidently, but under the delicate coating 
of rouge her cheeks had whitened. 

“Besides," she continued, “Sir Leslie has never 
even mentioned Mr. Mannering's name in anything 
except the most casual way. You don't understand 
everything, Hester. Of course Lena and Billy Aswell 
and Rothe and all of them are all right, but they are 
just a little — well, you would call it fast, and it does 
one good to be seen with a different set sometimes. 
Sir Leslie Borrowdean and his friends are altogether 
different, of course." 

The girl bent over her work. 

“No doubt, mother," she answered. “There's Mary 


74 A LOST LEADER 

stamping on the floor. I expect she has your bath 
ready.” 

An hour or so later Mrs. Phillimore departed in a 
hired brougham. Her hair had been carefully arranged 
by a local expert who had an establishment in the next 
street, her pink silk gown had come through the ordeal 
of cleansing with remarkable success, and the heels on 
her new evening shoes resembled more than anything 
else, miniature stilts. Her face was wreathed in smiles, 
and she possessed the good conscience and light heart 
of a woman who feels that she has made a successful 
toilette. All the vague misgivings of a short while 
ago had vanished. She gave her hair a final touch 
in the side window of the carriage as she drove off, 
and quite forgot to wave her hand to Hester, who was 
standing at the window to see her go. If any mis- 
givings remained at all between the two, they were 
not with her. She settled herself back amongst the 
cushions with a little sigh of content. Sir Leslie was 
a most charming person, and evidently not at all in- 
sensible to her charms. She was sure that she was 
going to have a delightful evening. 

Borrowdean, if he possessed no conscience, was 
not altogether free from some kindred eccentricity. 
He was reminded sharply enough of the fact about one 
o’clock the next morning, when the door of the little 
house on Merton Street was suddenly opened before 
he could touch the bell. Framed in a little slanting 
gleam of light, Hester, still wearing her plain black 
gown, stood and looked at him. His careless words 
of explanation died away upon his lips. The fire which 
flashed from her hollow eyes seemed to wither up the 


PUMPING OF MRS. PHILLIMORE 


75 


very sources of speech within him. The half lights 
were kind to her. He saw nothing of the hollow cheeks. 
The weariness of her pose and manner had passed like 
magic away. She stood there, erect as a dart, her 
head thrown back, a curious mixture of scorn, of loath- 
ing, and of fear in her expression. She looked at him 
steadily, and he felt his cheeks burn. He was ashamed 
— ashamed of himself, ashamed of his errand. 

“ Your mother,” he said, struggling to look away from 
her, “is — a little unwell. The heat of the room ” 

She swept down the steps and passed him. Before 
he could reach her side she was tugging at the handle 
of the carriage door. 

“Mother,” she cried, through the window, “undo 
the door!” 

But Mrs. Phillimore made no answer. When at 
last the door was opened she was discovered half asleep 
in a corner. Her hair was in some disorder, and her 
cheeks no longer preserved that even colouring which 
is a result of the artistic use of the rouge-pot. Her 
head was thrown back, and she was apparently asleep. 
Hester stifled a sob. She took her mother by the arm, 
and shook her. 

Mrs. Phillimore sat up and smiled a sleepy smile. 
She made a few incoherent remarks. They helped 
her into the house and into an easy-chair, where she 
promptly turned her face towards the cushions and 
resumed her slumber. Sir Leslie moved towards the 
door, then hesitated. 

“Miss Phillimore,” he said, “I cannot tell you how 
sorry I am that this should have happened.” 

She was on her knees before her mother. She turned 
and rose slowly to her feet. Sir Leslie never quite 


76 


A LOST LEADER 


forgot her gesture as she motioned him towards the 
door. It was one of the most uncomfortable moments 
of his life. 

“I am afraid ” 

She did not speak a word, yet Sir Leslie obeyed what 
seemed to him more eloquent than words. He turned 
and left the room and the house. Without any change 
in her tense expression she waited until she heard him 
go. Then she sank upon her knees on the hearthrug, 
and hid her face in her hands. 


CHAPTER X 


THE MAN WITH A MOTIVE 

M ANNERING sat alone in the shade of his cedar 
tree. He had walked in his rose-garden amongst 
a wilderness of drooping blossoms, for the season of 
roses was gone. He had crossed the marshland sea- 
wards, only to find a little crowd of holiday-makers in 
possession of the golf links and the green tufted stretch 
of sandy shore. The day had been long, almost irk- 
some. A fit of restlessness had driven him from his 
study. He seemed to have lost all power of concen- 
tration. For once his brain had failed him. The 
shadowy companions who stood ever between him and 
solitude remained uninvoked. His cigar had burnt 
out between his fingers. He threw it impatiently 
away. These were the days, the hours he dreaded. 

Clara came down the garden from the house, and 
seeing him, crossed the lawn and sat down beside him. 

“Why, my dear uncle,” she exclaimed, “you look 
almost as dull as I feel! Let us be miserable together!” 

“With all my heart,” he answered. “Whilst we 
are about it, can we invent a cause?” 

“Invent!” she repeated. “I do not think we need 
either of us look very far. Every one seems to have 
gone away whose presence made this place endurable. 
Uncle, do you know when Mrs. Handsell is coming 
back? She promised to write, and I have never heard 
a word!” 


78 


A LOST LEADER 


Mannering turned his head. A little rustling wind 
had stolen in from seaward. Above their heads flights 
of seagulls were floating out towards the creeks. He 
watched them idly until they dropped down. 

“I do not think that she will come back at all,” 
he said, quietly. “I heard to-day that the place was 
to let again.” 

“And Sir Leslie Borrowdean?” 

“I think you may take it for granted,” Mannering 
remarked, dryly, “that we shall see no more of him.” 

The girl leaned back and sighed. 

“Uncle, what is it that makes you such a hermit?” 
she asked. 

“Age, perhaps, and experience,” he answered, 
lightly. “There are not many people in the world, 
Clara, who are worth while!” 

“Mrs. Handsell was worth while,” she murmured. 

Mannering did not reply. 

“And Sir Leslie Borrowdean,” she continued, “was 
more than just worth while. I think that he was 
delightful.” 

“Very young ladies, and very old ones,” Manner- 
ing remarked, grimly, “generally like Borrowdean.” 

“And what about Mrs. Handsell?” she asked, with 
a spice of malice in her tone. 

“Mrs. Handsell,” Mannering answered, coolly, “was 
a very charming woman. Since both these people have 
passed out of our lives, Clara. I scarcely see why we 
need discuss them.” 

“One must talk about something,” she answered. 
“At least I must talk, and you must pretend to listen. 
I positively cannot exist in the house by myself any 
longer.” 


THE MAN WITH A MOTIVE 


79 


“ Where is Richard?” Mannering asked. 

“Gone into Norwich to dine at the barracks with 
some stupid men. Not that I mind his going,” she 
added, hastily. “I wish he’d stay away for a month. 
Of course he’s a very good sort, and all that, but he’s 
deadly monotonous. Uncle, really, as a matter of 
curiosity, before I get to be an old woman I should 
like to see one other young man.” 

“Plenty on the links just now!” 

“I know it. I sat out near the ninth hole all this 
morning. There are some Cambridge boys who looked 
quite nice. One of them was really delightful when 
I showed him where his ball was, but I can’t consider 
that an introduction, can I? Heavens, who’s this?” 

Behind the trim maid-servant already crossing the 
lawn, and within a few yards of them, came a strange, 
almost tragical, figure. Her plain black clothes and 
hat were powdered with dust, there were deep lines 
under her eyes, she swayed a little when she walked, 
as though with fatigue. She seemed to bring with 
her into the cool, quiet garden, with its country odours 
and general air of peace, an alien note. One almost 
heard the deep undercry from a far-away world of 
suffering — the great, ever-moving wheels seemed to 
have caught her up and thrown her down in this most 
incongruous of places. Clara, in her cool white dress, 
her fresh complexion, her general air of health and 
girlish vigour, seemed, as she rose to her feet, a creature 
of another sex, almost of another world. The two girls 
exchanged for a moment wondering glances. Then 
Mannering intervened. 

“Hester!” he exclaimed. “Why — is there anything 
wrong?” 


80 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Nothing — very serious,” she answered. “But I had 
to see you. I thought that I had better come.” 

He held out his hands. 

“You have had a tiring journey,” he said. “You 
must come into the house and let them find you some- 
thing to eat. Clara, this is Hester Phillimore, the 
daughter of an old friend of mine. Will you see about 
a room for her, and lend her anything she requires?” 

“Of course,” Clara answered. “Won’t you come into 
the house with me?” she added pleasantly to the 
girl. “You must be horribly tired travelling this hot 
weather, and this is such an out-of-the-way corner of 
the world!” 

Hester lingered for a moment, glancing nervously 
at Mannering. 

“I must go back to-night,” she said. “I only came 
because I thought that it would be quicker than 
writing.” 

“To-night?” he exclaimed. “But, my dear girl r 
that is impossible. There are no trains, and you are 
tired out already. Go into the house with my niece, 
and we will have a talk afterwards.” 

He walked across the lawn with them, talking pleas- 
antly to Hester, as though her visit were in no sense 
of the word unpleasant, or an extraordinary event. 
But when he returned to his seat under the cedar tree 
his whole expression was changed. The lines about 
his face had insensibly deepened. He leaned a little 
forward, looking with weary, unseeing eyes into the 
tangled shrubbery. Had all men, he wondered, this 
secret chapter in their lives — the one sore place so 
impossible to forget, the cupboard of shadows never 
wholly closed, shadows which at any moment might 


THE MAN WITH A MOTIVE 


81 


steal out and encompass his darkening life? He sat 
there motionless, and his thoughts travelled back- 
wards. There were many things in his life which he 
had forgotten, but never this. Every word that had 
been spoken, every detail in that tragic little scene 
seemed to glide into his memory with a distinctness 
and amplitude which time had never for one second 
dimmed. So it must be until the end. He forgot 
the girl and her errand. He forgot the carefully cul- 
tivated philosophy which for so many years had 
helped him towards forgetfulness. So he sat until 
the sound of their voices upon the lawn recalled him 
to the present. 

“I will leave you to have your talk with uncle,” 
Clara said. “ Afterwards I will come back to you. 
There he is, sitting under the cedar tree.” 

The girl came swiftly over to his side. For a moment 
the compassion which he had always felt for her swept 
away the memory of his own .sorrow. Her pallid, 
colourless face had lost everything except 'expression. 
If the weariness, which seemed to have found a home 
in her eyes, was just now absent, it was because a 
worse thing was shining out of them — a fear, of which 
there were traces even in her hurried walk and tone. 
He rose at once and held out his hands. 

“Come and sit down, Hester,” he said, “and don’t 
look so frightened.” 

She obeyed him at once. 

“I am frightened,” she said, “because I feel that I 
ought not to have come here, and yet I thought that 
you ought to know at once what has happened. Sir 
Leslie Borrowdean has been coming to see mother. 
Last night he took her out to dinner. She came home 


82 


A LOST LEADER 


— late — she was not quite herself. This morning she 
was frightened and hysterical. She said — that she had 
been talking.” 

“To Sir Leslie Borrowdean?” 

“Yes.” 

Mannering showed no signs of dismay. He took 
the girl’s thin white hand in his, and held it almost 
affectionately. 

“I am very glad to know T this at once, dear,” he 
said, “and you did what was right and kind when you 
came to see me. But Sir Leslie Borrowdean has no 
reason to make himself my enemy. On the contrary, 
just now he seems particularly anxious to cultivate 
my friendship.” 

“Then why,” the girl asked, “has he gone out of 
his way to — to ” 

Mannering stopped her. 

“He had a motive, of course. Borrowdean is one 
of those men who do nothing without a motive. I 
believe that I can even guess what it is. Don’t let 
this thing distress you too much, Hester. I do not 
think that we have anything to worry about.” 

“But he knows!” 

“I could not imagine a man,” Mannering answered, 
“better able to keep a secret.” 

The girl sat silent for a moment. 

“I suppose I have been an idiot,” she remarked. 

“You have been nothing of the sort,” Mannering 
asserted, firmly. “You have done just what is kind, 
and what will help me to save the situation. I 
must confess that I should not like to have been 
taken by surprise. You have saved me from that. 
Now let us put the whole subject away for a time. 


THE MAN WITH A MOTIVE 83 

How I wish that you could stay here for a few 
days.” 

The girl smiled a little piteously. 

“I ought not to have left her even for so long as 
this,” she said. “I must go back to-morrow morning 
by the first train.” 

He nodded. He felt that it was useless to combat 
her resolution. 

“You and I,” he said, gravely, “have both our 
burdens to carry. Only it seems a little unfair that 
Providence should have made my back so much the 
broader. Listen, Hester!” 

The full murmur of the sea growing louder and 
louder as the salt water flowed up into the creeks 
betokened the change of tide. Faint wreaths of mist 
were rising up from over the shadowy marshland. 
Above them were the stars. He laid his hand upon 
her shoulder. 

“Dear child!” he said, “I think that you understand 
how it is that the burden, after all, is easier for me. 
A man may forget his troubles here, for all the while 
there is this eternal background of peaceful things.” 

Her hand stole into his. 

“Yes,” she murmured, “I understand. Don’t let 
them ever bring you away.” 


CHAPTER XI 
mannering’s alternative 

O NCE again Mannering found himself in the over- 
scented, overheated room, which was perhaps 
of all places in the world the one he hated the most. 
Fresh from the wind-swept places of his country home, 
he found the atmosphere intolerable. After a few 
minutes’ waiting he threw open the windows and 
leaned out. Hester was walking in the Square some- 
where. He had a shrewd idea that she had been 
sent out of the way. With a restless impatience of 
her absence he awaited the interview wdiich he dreaded. 

Her mother’s coming took him a little by surprise. 
She seemed to have laid aside all her usual customs. 
She entered the room quietly. She greeted him almost 
nervously. She was dressed, without at any rate any 
obvious attempt to attract, in a plain black gown, and 
with none of the extravagances in which she sometimes 
delighted. Her usual boisterous confidence of manner 
seemed to have deserted her. Her face, without its 
skilful touches of rouge, looked thin, and almost 
peaked. 

“I am so glad that you came, Lawrence,” she said. 
“It was very good of you.” 

She glanced towards the opened windows, and he 
closed them at once. 

“I am afraid,” he said, “that you have not been 
well!” 


MANNERING’S ALTERNATIVE 85 

There was a touch of her old self in the hardness of 
her low laugh. 

“It is remorse !” she declared. “I think that for 
once in' my life I have permitted myself to think! It 
is a great mistake. One loses confidence when one 
realizes what a beast one is.” 

He waited in silence. It seemed to him the best 
thing. She sat down a little wearily. He remained 
standing a few feet away. 

“I have given you away. Lawrence,” she said, 
quietly. 

“So,” he remarked, “I understand.” 

“Hester has told you, of course. I am not blaming 
her. She did quite right. Only I should have told 
you myself. I wanted to be the first to assure you 
of this. Our secret is quite safe. The man — with 
whom I made a fool of myself — has given me his 
word of honour.” 

“Sir Leslie Borrowdean’s — word of honour!” Man- 
nering remarked, with slow scorn. “Do you know the 
man, I wonder?” 

“I know that he wishes to be your friend, and not 
your enemy,” she said. 

“He chooses his friends for what they are worth to 
him,” Mannering answered. “It is all a matter of self- 
interest. He has some idea of making me the stepping- 
stone to his advancement. I have a place just now in 
his scheme of life. But as for friendship! Borrowdean 
does not know the meaning of the word.” 

“You speak bitterly,” she remarked. 

“I know the man,” he answered. 

“Will you tell me,” she asked, “what it is that he 
wants of you?” 


86 


A LOST LEADER 


He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Is this worth discussing between us?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Very well, then, ygu shall know. He wants me 
to re-enter political life, to be the jackal to pull the 
chestnuts out of the fire for him.” 

“To re-enter political life! And why don’t you?” 

Mannering turned abruptly round and looked her 
in the face. He had been gazing out of the window, 
wondering how long it would be before Hester re- 
turned. 

“Why don’t I!” he repeated, a little vaguely. “How 
can you ask me such a question as that?” 

She was undisturbed. Again he marvelled at the 
change in her. 

“Is it so very extraordinary a question?” she said. 
“I have often wondered whether you meant to content 
yourself with your present life always. It is scarcely 
worthy of you, is it? You were born to other things 
than to live the life of a country gentleman. You 
dabble in literature, they say, and poke your stick 
into politics through the pages of the reviews. Why 
don’t you take your coat off and play the game?” 

Mannering was silent for several moments. He 
was, however, meditating his own reply less than 
studying his questioner. Her attitude was amazing 
to him. She watched him all the time, frowning. 

“You are not usually so tongue-tied,” she remarked, 
irritably. “Have you nothing to say to me?” 

“I am wondering,” he said, quietly, “what has 
given birth to this sudden interest in my proceedings. 
What does it matter to you how my days are spent, 
or what manner of use I make of them?” 


MANNERING’S ALTERNATIVE 


87 


“ There was a time ” she began. 

“A time irretrievably past,” he interrupted, shortly. 

“I am not so sure!” she declared, doubtfully. 

“What has Borrowdean to do with this?” he asked 
her, abruptly. 

“Borrowdean?” 

“Surely! Some one has been putting notions into 
your head.” 

“Why take that for granted?” she asked, equably. 
“The pity of the whole thing is obvious enough, isn’t 
it? Sometimes I think that we were a pair of fools. 
We played into the hands of fate. We were brought 
face to face with a terrible situation. Instead of 
meeting it bravely we played the coward. Why don’t 
you forget, Lawrence, as I have done? Take up your 
work again. Set a seal upon — that memory.” 

“I have outgrown my ambitions,” he answered. 
“Life was hot enough in my veins then. Desire grows 
cold with the years. I am content.” 

“But I,” she answered “am not.” 

“We each chose our life,” he reminded her. 

“Perhaps. I am not satisfied with my choice. 
You may be with yours.” 

“I am.” 

She leaned over towards him. 

“Once,” she said, “you offered me what you called 
— atonement. I refused it. Just then it seemed 
horrible. Now that feeling has passed away. I am 
lonely, Lawrence, and I am weary of the sort of life 
I have been living. Supposing I asked you to make 
me that offer again?” 

Mannering turned slowly towards her. He was net 
a man who easily showed emotion, but there were 


88 


A LOST LEADER 


traces of it now in his face. The hand which rested 
on the back of his chair shook. There was in his eyes 
the look of a man who sees evil things. 

“It is too late, Blanche,” he said. “You cannot 
be in earnest?” 

“Why not?” she murmured, dropping her eyes. “I 
am tired of my life. What you owed me then you 
owe me now. Why should it be too late? I am not 
an old woman yet, nor are you an old man, and I 
am weary of being alone.” 

Mannering walked to the window. His hand went 
to his forehead. It was damp and cold. He was 
afraid! If she were in earnest! And she spoke like 
a woman who knew her mind. She was always, he 
remembered, a creature of caprice. If she were really 
in earnest! 

“We have drifted too far apart, Blanche,” he said, 
making an effort to face the situation. “Years ago 
this might have been possible. To-day it would be a 
dismal failure. My ways are not yours. The life I 
lead would bore you to death.” 

“There is no reason why you should not alter it,” 
she answered, calmly. “In fact, I should wish you to. 
Blakely all the year round would be an impossibility. 
You could come and live in London.” 

He looked at her fixedly. 

“Have you forgotten?” he asked. 

She covered her face with her hands for a moment. 
If indeed she really felt any emotion it passed quickly 
away, for when she looked up again there were no 
traces left. 

“I have forgotten nothing,” she declared, defiantly. 
“Only the horror and fear of it all has passed away. 


MANNERING’S ALTERNATIVE 


89 


I don’t see why I should suffer all my life. In fact, I 
don’t mean to. I don’t want to be a miserable, lonely 
old woman. I want a home, something different from 
this.” 

Mannering faced her gravely. 

“ Blanche,” he said, “you are proposing something 
which would most surely ruin the rest of our lives. 
What we might have been to one another if things 
had been different it is hard to say. But this much 
is very certain. We belong now to different worlds. 
We have drifted apart with the years. Even the little 
we see of one another now is far from a pleasure to 
either of us. What you are suggesting would be simply 
suicidal.” 

She was silent. He watched her anxiously. As a 
rule her face was easy enough to read. To-day it 
was impenetrable. He could not tell what was pass- 
ing behind that still, almost stony, look. Her silence 
forced him again into speech. 

“You agree with me, surely, Blanche? You must 
agree with me?” 

She raised her head. 

“I am not sure that I do,” she answered. “But 
at least I understand you. That is something! You 
want to go on as you are — apart from me. That is 
true, isn’t it?” 

“Yes!” 

She nodded. 

“At least you are candid. You want your liberty — 
unfettered. What are you willing to pay for it?” 

He looked at her incredulously. 

“I do not quite understand!” he said. 

She laughed, and the laugh belonged to her old self. 


90 


A LOST LEADER 


“Indeed! I thought that I was explicit enough, 
brutally explicit, even. What have you to offer me 
in place of your name and yourself? What sacrifice 
are you prepared to make?” 

He looked at her furtively, as though even then he 
doubted the significance of her words. 

“You have already half my income,” he said, slowly. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“A thousand a year! What can one do on that? 
To live decently in town one needs much more.” 

“It is as much as I can offer,” he remarked, stiffly. 

“Then you should earn money,” she declared. “It’s 
easy enough for men with brains. Go back into politics 
instead of idling your time away down in Blakely. 
I mean it! I’ve no patience with men who have a 
right to a place in the world which they won’t fill.” 

“Surely,” he remonstrated, “I may be allowed to 
choose the manner of my life!” 

“If you can afford to — yes,” she answered. “But 
I want one of two things. The first seems to scare 
you to death even to think of. The second is more 
money — a good deal more money.” 

“But,” he protested, “even if I did as you suggested, 
and went back into politics, it would be some time, if 
ever, before I should be any better off.” 

“I will wait until that time comes,” she answered, 
“provided that when it does, you share with me.” 

Then Mannering understood. 

“Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “you are an apt con- 
spirator indeed. All this time you have been fooling 
me. I even fancied — bah! How much is Borrowdean 
giving you for this?” 

“Nothing at all,” she answered, coolly. “It is my 


MANNERING’S ALTERNATIVE 


91 


own sincere desire for your welfare which has prompted 
all that I have said to you. I am ambitious for you, 
Lawrence. I should like to see you Prime Minister. 
I am sure you could be if you tried. You are letting 
your talents rust, and I don’t approve of it!” 

The faint note of mockery in her tone was clearly 
apparent. Mannering found it hard to answer her 
calmly. 

“Come,” he said, “put it into plain words. What 
does it mean? What do you want?” 

“Sir Leslie tells me,” she said, raising her eyes and 
looking him in the face, “that his party is prepared 
to find you a safe seat to-morrow. I want you to 
give up your hermit’s life and accept it.” 

“And the alternative?” 

“You have it already before you. Your reception 
of it was not, I must admit, altogether flattering.” 

“I am allowed,” he said, “some short space of time 
for consideration?” 

“Until to-morrow, if you wish,” she answered. “I 
imagine you know pretty well what you mean to do.” 

He picked up his hat and turned towards the door. 

“Yes,” he said, “I suppose I do!” 


BOOK II 


CHAPTER I 

BORROWDEAN MAKES A BARGAIN 

B ORROWDEAN sank into the chair which Berenice 
had indicated, with a little sigh of relief. 

“ These all-night sittings/’ he remarked, “get less 
of a joke as one advances in years. You read the 
reports this morning?” 

She nodded. 

“And Mannering’s speech?” 

“Every word of it.” 

“Our little conspiracy,” he continued, “is bearing 
fruit. Honestly, Mannering is a surprise, even to me. 
After these years of rust I scarcely expected him to 
step back at once into all his former brilliancy. His 
speech last night was wonderful.” 

“I heard it,” she said. “You are quite right. It 
was wonderful.” 

“You were in the House?” he asked, looking up 
quickly. 

“I was there till midnight,” she answered. 
Borrowdean was thoughtful for a moment. 

“His speech,” he remarked, “sounded even better 
than it read.” 

“I thought so,” she admitted. “He has all the 
smaller tricks of the orator, as well as the gift of elo- 
quence. One can always listen to him with pleasure.” 


MAKES A BARGAIN 


93 


“Will you pardon me/’ Borrowdean asked, “if I 
make a remark which may sound a little impertinent? 
You and Mannering were great friends at Blakely. 
On my first visit there you will remember that you 
did not attempt to conceal that there was more than 
an ordinary intimacy between you. Yet to-day I 
notice that there are indications on both your parts of 
a desire to avoid one another as much as possible. It 
seems to me a pity that you two should not be friends. 
Is there any small misunderstanding which a common 
friend — such as I trust I may call myself — might help 
to smooth away?” 

Berenice regarded him thoughtfully. 

“It is strange,” she said, “that you should talk to 
me like this, you who are certainly responsible for any 
estrangement there may be between Mr. Mannering 
and myself. Please answer me this question. Why 
do you wish us to be friends?” 

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders. 

“You and he and myself, with about a dozen others,” 
he answered, “form the backbone of a political party. 
As time goes on we shall in all probability be drawn 
closer and closer together. It seems to me best that 
our alliance should be as real a thing as possible.” 

Berenice smiled. 

“Rather a sentimental attitude for you, Sir Leslie,” 
she remarked. “Have you ever considered the fact 
that any coolness there may be between Lawrence 
Mannering and myself is entirely due to you?” 

“To me!” he exclaimed. 

“Exactly! At Blakely we were on terms of the most 
intimate friendship. I had grown to like and respect 
him more than any man I had ever met. I don’t 


94 


A LOST LEADER 


know exactly why I should take you so far into my 
confidence, but I am inclined to do so. Our friendship 
seemed likely to develop into — other things.” 

“My dear Duchess ” 

“Don’t interrupt me! I have an idea that you were 
perfectly aware of it. Perhaps it did not suit your 
plans. At any rate, you made statements to me 
concerning him which, as you very well knew, were 
likely to alter my entire opinion of him. I had an idea 
that there was some code of honour between men 
which kept them from discussing the private life of 
their friends with a woman. You seem to have been 
troubled with no such scruples. You told me things 
about Lawrence Mannering which made it absolutely 
necessary that I should hear them confirmed or denied 
from his own lips.” 

“You would rather have remained in ignorance, 
then?” he asked. 

“I would rather have remained in ignorance,” she 
repeated, calmly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sir Leslie, 
that a woman ever has any real gratitude in her heart 
for the person who, out of friendship, or some other 
motive, destroys her ideals. I should have married 
Lawrence Mannering if you had not spoken.” 

Borrowdean was silent. In his heart he was think- 
ing how nearly one of the most cherished schemes of 
his life had gone awry. 

“I am afraid, then,” he said, “that even at the risk 
of your further displeasure I have no regrets to offer 
you.” 

“I do not desire your regrets,” she answered, scorn- 
fully. “You did what it suited you to do, and I pre- 
sume you are satisfied. As for the rest, I can assure 


MAKES A BARGAIN 


95 


you that the relations between Mr. Mannering and 
myself are such that the balance of your political 
apple-cart is not likely to be disturbed. Now let us 
talk of something else. I have said all that I have to 
say on this matter ” 

Sir Leslie was not entirely satisfied with the result 
of his afternoon call. He walked slowly from Grosvenor 
Square to a small house in Sloane Gardens, in front 
of which a well-appointed victoria was waiting. He 
looked around at the well-filled window-boxes, thick 
with geraniums and marguerites, at the coachman’s 
new livery, at the evidences of luxury which met him 
the moment the door was opened, and his lips parted 
in a faint, unpleasant smile. 

“Poor Mannering,” he murmured to himself. “What 
a millstone!” 

Mrs. Phillimore was at home. She would certainly 
see Sir Leslie, the trim parlour-maid thought, with a 
smile. She left him alone in a flower-scented drawing- 
room, crowded with rococo furniture and many knick- 
knacks, where he waited more or less impatiently for 
nearly twenty minutes. Then Mrs. Phillimore swept 
into the room, elaborately gowned for her drive in 
the park, dispersing perfumes in all directions and 
bestowing a dazzling smile upon him. 

“I felt very much inclined not to see you at all,” 
she declared. “How dared you keep away from me all 
this time? You haven’t been near me since I moved 
in here. What do you think of my little house?” 

“Charming!” he declared. 

“Every one likes it,” she remarked. “Such a time 
I had choosing the furniture. Hester wouldn’t help 
with a single thing. You know that she has left me?” 


96 


A LOST LEADER 


“I understood that she had gone to Mr. Mannering 
as secretary/’ he answered. “She has done typing 
for him for some time, hasn’t she?” 

Mrs. Phillimore nodded. 

“Worships him, the little fool!” she remarked. “I 
must admit I detest clever men. You are all so dull, 
and such scheming brutes, too.” 

Borrowdean smiled. A certain rough-and-ready 
humour about this woman always appealed to him. 
He looked around. 

“You seem to have done very nicely with that 
little offering,” he said. 

“Oh, ready money goes a long way,” she declared, 
carelessly. 

“And when it is spent?” he asked. “Five thou- 
sand pounds is not an inexhaustible sum.” 

“ By the time it is spent,” she answered, “ your 
party will be in, and I suppose you will make Law- 
rence something.” 

Borrowdean regarded the woman thoughtfully. 

“ Has it ever occurred to you,” he asked, “ that the 
time js likely to come when Mannering might want 
his money for himself? He might want to marry, 
for instance. 

She laughed mirthlessly, but without a shade of 
uneasiness. 

“You don’t know Lawrence,” she declared, scorn- 
fully. “He’d never do that whilst I was alive.” 

“I am not so sure,” Borrowdean answered, calmly. 
“Between ourselves, I cannot see that your claim 
upon him amounts to very much.” 

“Then you’re a fool!” she declared, brusquely. 

“No, I’m not,” Borrowdean assured her, blandly. 


MAKES A BARGAIN 97 

“Now I fancy that I could tell you something which 
would surprise you very much. ,, 

“Has he been making love to any one?” she asked, 
quickly. 

“Something of the sort,” he admitted. “Manner- 
ing is quixotic, of course, and that hermit life of his 
down in Norfolk has made him more so. Now he has 
come back again into the world it is just possible that 
he may see things differently. I flatter myself that I 
am a man of common sense. I know how the whole 
affair seems to me, and I tell you frankly that I can 
see nothing from the point of view of honour to pre- 
vent Mannering marrying any woman he chooses. I 
think it very possible that he may readjust his whole 
point of view.” 

The woman looked around her, and outside, where 
her victoria was waiting. At last she had attained 
to an environment such as she had all her life de- 
sired. The very idea that at any moment it might 
be swept away sent a cold shiver through her. Bor- 
rowdean had a trick of speaking convincingly. And 
besides 

“Who is the woman?” she asked. 

“I had been wondering,” Borrowdean said, “whether 
it would not be better to tell you, so that you might 
be on your guard. The woman is the Duchess of 
Lenchester.” 

She stared at him. 

“You’re in earnest?” 

“Absolutely!” 

Her face hardened. Whatever other feelings she 
may have had for Mannering, she had lived so long 
with the thought that he belonged to her, at least as 


98 


A LOST LEADER 


a wage-earning animal, a person whose province it 
was to make her ways smooth so far as his means 
permitted, that the thought of losing him stirred in 
her a dull, jealous anger. 

“I’d stop it!” she declared. “Fd go and tell her 
everything.” 

“I am not sure,” Borrowdean continued, smoothly, 
“that that would be the best course. Supposing that 
you were to tell her the story just as you told it to me. 
It is just possible that her point of view might be mine. 
She might regard Lawrence Mannering as a quixotic 
person, and endeavour to persuade him that your claim 
was scarcely so binding as he seems to imagine. In any 
case, I do not think that your story would prevent her 
marrying him.” 

“Then all I can say is that she is a woman with a 
very queer sense of right and wrong,” Mrs. Phillimore 
declared, angrily. 

Borrowdean smiled. 

“A woman,” he said, “who is fond of a man is apt 
to have her judgment a little warped. The Duchess 
is a woman of fine perceptions and sound judgment. 
But she is attracted by Lawrence Mannering. She 
admires him. He is the sort of person who appeals 
to her imagination. These feelings might easily be- 
come, if they have not already developed into, some- 
thing else. And I tell you again that I do not 
believe your story would stop her from marrying 
him.” 

She leaned a little towards him. 

“What would?” she asked, earnestly. 

He hesitated. 

“Well,” he said, “I think I could tell you that!” 


MAKES A BARGAIN 


99 


She held up her hand. 

“Stop, please,” she said. “I want to ask you some- 
thing else. Are you Lawrence's enemy?” 

“I? Why, of course not!” 

“Then where do you come in?” she asked, bluntly. 
“You couldn't persuade me that it is interest on my 
account which brings you here and makes you tell 
me these things. You don’t care a button for me.” 

Borrowdean took her hand and leaned forward in 
his chair. She snatched it away. 

“Oh, rot!” she exclaimed. “I may be a fool, but 
I'm not quite fool enough for that. I'm simply a use- 
ful person for the moment in some scheme of yours, and 
I just want to know what that scheme is. That’s all! 
I'm not the sort of woman you'd waste a moment with, 
except for some purpose of your own. You've proved 
that. You wormed my story out of me very cleverly, 
but I haven't quite forgotten it yet, you know. And 
to tell you the truth,” she continued, “you're not my 
sort, either. You and Lawrence Mannering are some- 
thing of the same kidney after all, though he's worth 
a dozen of you. You've neither of you any time for 
play in the world, and that sort of man doesn't appeal 
to me. Now where do you come in?” 

Borrowdean looked at her thoughtfully. He had 
the air of a man a trifle piqued. Perhaps for the first 
time he realized that Blanche Phillimore was not alto- 
gether an unattractive-looking woman. If she had 
desired to stir him from his indifference she could not 
have chosen any more effectual means. 

“I am not going to argue with you,” he said, quietly. 
“I have ambitions, it is true, and the world is not 
exactly a playground for me. Nevertheless, I am not 


100 


A LOST LEADER 


an ascetic like Mannering. The world, the flesh and 
the devil are very much to me what they are to other 
men. But in a sense you have cornered me, and you 
shall have the truth. I want to marry the Duchess of 
Lenchester myself.” 

She nodded. 

“ That’s right,” she said. “Now we know where we 
are. You want to marry the Duchess, and therefore 
you don't want her to have Lawrence. You think that 
I can stop it, and as I don't want him married, 
either, you come to me. That is reasonable. Now 
how can I prevent it?” 

“By a slight variation from your story,” he ansv/ered. 
“In fact, words are not needed. A suggestion only 
would be enough, and circumstances,” he added, glanc- 
ing around, “are strongly in favour of that suggestion.” 

“You mean ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Mannering is security for your lease,” he remarked. 
“You pay in his cheques to your bank every quarter. 
He occupies just that position which in a general way 
is capable of one explanation only.” 

“Well?” 

“Let the Duchess believe him, or continue to believe 
him, to be an ordinary man — instead of a fool — and 
she will never marry him.” 

“And she will you?” 

“I hope so!” 

She leaned back in her chair. He could not alto- 
gether understand her silence. Surely she could have 
no scruples? 

“It seems to me,” she said at last, “that I am to play 
your game for nothing. I don't care so very much, 


MAKES A BARGAIN 


101 


after all, if he marries. He’d settle all he could on me. 
In fact, I should have just as much claim on him as I 
have now.” 

“I did not say that you should play it for nothing,” 
he answered. “I want us to understand each other, 
because I have an idea that you may be seeing some- 
thing of the Duchess at any moment. Let us put it 
this way. Suppose I promise to give you a diamond 
necklace of the value of, say five thousand pounds, 
the day I marry the Duchess!” 

She rose and put pen and paper before him. He 
shook his head. 

“I can’t put an arrangement of that sort on paper,” 
he protested. “You must rely upon my word of 
honour.” 

She held out the pen to him. 

“On paper, or the whole thing is off absolutely,” 
she declared. 

“You won’t trust me?” 

She looked at him. 

“There isn’t much honour about an arrangement 
of this sort, is there?” she said. “It has to be on 
paper, or not at all.” 

A carriage stopped outside. They heard the bell 

“That,” she remarked, “may be the Duchess of 
Lenchester.” 

He caught up the pen and wrote a few hurried 
lines. The smile with which he handed it to her 
was not altogether successful. 

“After all, you know,” he said, “there should be 
honour amongst theives.” 

“No doubt there is,” she answered. “Only thieves 
are a cut above us, aren’t they?” 


102 


A LOST LEADER 


“I don’t believe,” Borrowdean said to himself, as 
he reached the pavement, “that that woman is such 
a fool as she seems.” 


CHAPTER II 


“CHERCHEZ LA FEMME” 

M ANNERING hated dinner parties, but this one 
had been a necessity. Nevertheless, if he had 
known who his companion for the evening was fated 
to be he would most certainly have stayed away. Her 
first question showed him that she had no intention of 
ignoring memories which to him were charged with the 
most subtle pain. 

He looked down the table, and back again into her 
face. 

“You are quite right,” he said. “This is different. 
We cannot compare. We can judge only by effect — 
the effect upon ourselves.” 

“Can you be analytical and yet remain within the 
orbit of my understanding?” she asked, with a faint 
smile. “If so, I should like to know exactly how you 
feel about it all.” 

He passed a course with a somewhat weary gesture 
of refusal, and leaned back in his chair. 

“You are comprehensive — as usual,” he remarked. 
“Just then I was wondering whether the perfume of 
these banks of hot-house flowers — I don’t know what 
they are — was as sweet as the odour of the salt from 
the creeks, or my roses when the night wind touched 
them.” 

“You were wondering ! And what have you decided? ” 
“Ah, I must not say. In any case you would not 


104 


A LOST LEADER 


agree with me. Wasn’t it you who once scoffed at 
my idyll in the wilderness?” 

“I do not think that I believe in idylls, nowadays,” 
she answered. “One risks so many disappointments 
when one believes in anything.” 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“You did not talk like this at Blakely,” he 
remarked. 

“I am nearly a year older,” she answered, “and a 
year wiser.” 

“You pain me,” he answered, with a little sigh. 
“You are a person of intelligence, and you talk of 
growing wiser with the years. Don’t you know that 
the only supreme wisdom is the wisdom of the child? 
Our inherent ignorance is fed and nourished by ex- 
perience.” 

“You are hiding yourself,” she remarked, “behind 
a fence of words — words that mean less than nothing! 
I don’t suppose that even you would hesitate to admit 
that you have come into a larger world. You may 
have to pay for it. We all do. But at any rate it 
is an atmosphere which breeds men.” 

“And changes women,” he murmured, under his 
breath. 

She did not speak to him for several moments. 
Then the alteration in her tone and manner was almost 
marked. 

“You mentioned Blakely a few minutes ago,” she 
said. “I wonder whether you remember our discus- 
sion there upon precisely what has come to pass.” 

“Perfectly!” 

“I remember that in those days,” she continued, 
reflectively, “you were very firm indeed, or was it 


“CHERCHEZ LA FEMME 


105 


my poor arguments that were at fault? Your vegetable 
and sentimental existence was a part of yourself. 
Ambition! You had forgotten what it was. Duty! 
You spouted individualism by the hour. Gratify my 
curiosity, won’t you? Tell me what made you change 
your mind?” 

Mannering was silent for a moment. A close ob- 
server might have noticed a certain alteration in his 
face. A touch of the coming weariness was already 
there. 

“I have never changed my mind,” he answered, 
quietly. “My inclinations to-day are what they have 
always been.” 

She dropped her voice a little. 

“You puzzle me,” she said, softly. “Do you mean 
that it was your sense of duty which was awakened?” 

“No, I do not mean that,” he answered. “For- 
give me — but I cannot tell you what I do mean. 
Circumstances brought me here against my will.” 

“You talk like a slave,” she said, lightly enough. 
She, too, was brave. She drank wine to keep the 
colour in her cheeks, and she told herself that the 
pain at her heart was nothing. Nevertheless, some 
words of Borrowdean’s were mocking her all the while. 

“We are all slaves,” he answered. “The folly of 
it all is when we stop to think. Then we realize it.” 

Their conversation was like a strangled thing. 
Neither made any serious effort to re-establish it. 
It was a great dinner party, chiefly political, and 
long drawn out. Afterwards came a reception, and 
Mannering was at once surrounded. It was nearly 
midnight when by chance they came face to face 
again. She touched him with her fan, and leaned 


106 A LOST LEADER 

aside from the little group by whom she was 
surrounded. 

“Are you very much occupied, Mr. Mannering, ” 
she asked, lightly, “or could you spare me a moment?” 

He stopped short. Whatever surprise he may have 
felt he concealed. 

“I am entirely at your service, Duchess,” he answered. 
“Mr. Harrison will excuse me, I am sure,” he added, 
turning to his companion. 

She rested her fingers upon his arm. The house 
belonged to a relative of hers, and she knew where to 
find a quiet spot. When they were alone she did not 
hesitate for a moment. 

“Lawrence,” she said, quietly, “will you imagine 
for a moment that we are back again at Blakely?” 

“I would to God we were!” he answered, impul- 
sively. “That is — if you wish it too!” 

She did not answer at once. The sudden abnegation 
of his reserve took her by surprise. She had to re- 
adjust her words. 

“At least,” she said, “there are many things about 
Blakely which I regret all the time. You know, of 
course, the chief one, our own altered selves. I know, 
Lawrence, that I need to ask your forgiveness. I 
came there under an assumed name, and I will 
admit that my coming was part of a scheme between 
Ronalds, Rochester and myself. Well, I am ready to 
ask your forgiveness for that. I don’t think you ought 
to refuse it me. It doesn’t alter anything that hap- 
pened. It doesn’t even affect it. You must believe 
that!” 

“I believe it, if you tell me so,” he answered. 

“I do tell you,” she declared. “I can explain it 


“CHERCHEZ LA FEMME 


107 


all. I am longing to have it all off my mind. But 
first of all, there is just one thing which I want to ask 
you ” 

His face as he looked towards her gave her almost 
a shock. Very little was left of his healthy colouring. 
Already there were lines under his eyes, and he was 
certainly thinner. And there was something else which 
almost appalled her. There was fear in his manner. 
He sat like a man waiting for sentence, a man fore- 
doomed. 

“I want to know,” she said, “what has brought 
you — here. I want to know what manner of persua- 
sion has prevailed — when mine was so ineffectual. 
Don’t think that I am not glad that you decided as 
you did. I am glad — very. You are in your rightful 
place, and I am only too thankful to hear about you, 
and read — and watch. But — we are jealous creatures, 
we women, you know, and I want to know whose and 
what arguments prevailed, when mine were so very 
insufficient.” 

He answered her without hesitation, but his tone 
was dull and spiritless. 

“I cannot tell you!” 

There was a short silence. She gathered her skirts 
for a moment in her hand as though about to rise, 
but apparently changed her mind. She waited for 
some time, and then she spoke again. 

“Perhaps you think that I ought not to ask?” 

He looked at her hopelessly. 

“No, I don’t think that. You have a right to ask. 
But it doesn’t alter things, does it? I can’t tell you.” 

“You asked me to marry you.” 

“It was at Blakely. We were so far out of the 


108 


A LOST LEADER 


world — such a different world. I think that I had 
forgotten all that I wished to forget. Everything 
seemed possible there.” 

“You mean that you would have married me and 
told me nothing of circumstances in your life, so mo- 
mentous that they have practically exercised in this 
matter of your return to politics a compelling influ- 
ence over you? ” 

“I am sure/’ he said, “that I should not have told 
you!” 

His unhappiness moved her. She still lingered. 
She drew a little breath, and she went a good deal 
further than she had meant to go. 

“It has been suggested to me,” she said, “that your 
reappearance was due to a woman’s influence. Is 
this true?” 

“A woman had something to do with it,” he ad- 
mitted. 

“Who is she?” 

“Her name,” he answered, “is Blanche Phillimore. 
It was the person to whom you yourself alluded.” 

The Duchess maintained her self-control. She was 
quite pale, however, and her tone was growing omi- 
nously harder. 

“Is she a connection of yours?” 

“No!” 

“Is there anything which you could tell me about 
her?” 

“No!” 

“Yet at her bidding you have done — what you 
refused me.” 

“I had no choice! Borrowdean saw to that,” he 
remarked, bitterly. 


“CHERCHEZ LA FEMME” 


109 


She rose to her feet. She was pale, and her lips 
were quivering, but she was splendidly handsome. 

“What sort of a man are you, Lawrence Manner- 
ing?” she asked, steadily. “You play at idealism, 
you asked me to marry you. Yet all the time there 
was this background.” 

“It was madness,” he admitted. “But remember 
it was Mrs. Handsell whom I asked to be my wife.” 

“What difference does that make? She was a 
woman, too, I suppose, to be honoured — or insulted 
—by your choice!” 

“There was no question of insult, I think.” 

She looked at him steadfastly. Perhaps for a mo- 
ment her thoughts travelled back to those unforgotten 
days in the rose-gardens at Blakely, to the man whose 
delicate but wholesome joy in the wind and the sun 
and the flowers, the sea-stained marshes and the windy 
knolls where they had so often stood together, she 
could not forget. His life had seemed to her then 
so beautiful a thing. The elementary purity of his 
thoughts and aspirations were unmistakable. She 
told herself passionately that there must be a way out. 

“ Lawrence, ”she said, “we are man and woman, 
not boy and girl. You asked me to marry you once, 
and I hesitated, only because of one thing. I do not 
wish to look into any hidden chambers of your life. 
I wish to know nothing, save of the present. What 
claim has this woman Blanche Phillimore upon you?” 

“It is her secret,” he answered, “not mine alone.” 

“She lives in your house — through her you are a 
poor man — through her you are back again, a worker 
in the world.” 

“Yes!” 


110 


A LOST LEADER 


“It must always be so?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you have nothing more to say?” 

“If I dared,” he said, raising his eyes to hers, “I 
would say — trust me! I am not exactly — one of the 
beasts of the field.” 

“Will you not trust me, then? I am not a foolish 
girl. I am a woman. You may destroy an ideal, 
but there would be something left.” 

“I can tell you no more.” 

“Then it is to be good-bye?” 

“If you say so!” 

She turned slowly away. He watched her disap- 
pear. Afterwards, with a curious sense of unreality, 
he remained quite still, his eyes still fixed upon the 
portiere through which she had passed. 


CHAPTER III 


ONE OF THE “ SUFFERERS ” 

M ANNERING kept no carriage, and he left Down- 
ing Street on foot. The little house which he had 
taken furnished for the season was in the somewhat 
less pretentious neighborhood of Portland Crescent, 
and as there were no hansoms within hail he started 
to walk home. An attempt at a short cut landed him 
presently in a neighborhood which he failed to recog- 
nize. He paused, looking about him for some one 
from whom to inquire the way. Then he at once 
realized what he had already more than once suspected. 
He was being followed. 

The footsteps ceased as he himself had halted. It 
was a wet night, and the street was ill-lit. Never- 
theless, Mannering could distinguish the figure of a 
man standing in the shadows of the houses, apparently 
to escape observation. For a moment he hesitated. 
His follower could scarcely be an ordinary hooligan, 
for not more than fifty yards away were the lights 
of a great thoroughfare, and even in this street, quiet 
though it was, there were people passing to and fro. 
His curiosity prompted him to subterfuge. He took 
a cigarette from his case, and commenced in a leisurely 
manner the operation of striking a light. Instantly 
the figure of the man began to move cautiously towards 
him. 

Mannering’s eyes and hearing, keenly developed 


112 


A LOST LEADER 


by his country life, apprised him of every step the 
man took. He heard him pause whilst a couple of 
women passed on the other side of the way. After- 
wards his approach became swifter and more stealthy. 
Barely in time to avoid, he scarcely knew what, 
Mannering turned sharply round. 

“What do you want with me?” he demanded. 

The man showed no signs of confusion. Manner- 
ing, as he looked sternly into his face, lost all fear of 
personal assault. He was neatly but shabbily dressed, 
pale, and with a slight red moustache. He had a 
somewhat broad forehead, eyes with more than an 
ordinary lustre, and, in somewhat striking contradic- 
tion to the rest of his features, a large sensitive 
mouth with a distinctly humorous curve. Even now 
its corners were receding into a smile, which had in 
it, however, other elements than mirth alone. 

“You are Mr. Lawrence Mannering ?'' 

“That is my name,” Mannering answered, “but 
if you want to speak to me why don't you come up 
like a man, instead of dogging my footsteps? It 
looked as though you wanted to take me by surprise. 
What is that you are hiding up your sleeve?" 

The man held it out, placed it even in Mannering's 
hand. 

“A life preserver, steel, as you see, and with a 
beautiful spring. Deadly weapon, isn't it, sir? Even 
a half-hearted sort of blow might kill a man.” 

Mannering swung the weapon lightly in his hand. 
It cut the air with a soft, sickly swish. 

“What were you doing following me, on tiptoe, 
with this in your hand?” he asked, sternly. 

“Well,” the man answered, as though forced to 


“CHERCHEZ LA FEMME ” 113 

confess an unpleasant truth, “I am very much afraid 
that I was going to hit you with it.” 

Mannering looked up and down the street for a 
policeman. 

“ Indeed!” he said. “And may I ask why you 
changed your mind?” 

“It was an inspiration,” the man answered, easily. 
“To tell you the truth, the clumsiness of the whole 
thing grated very much upon me. Personally, I ran 
no risk, don’t think it was that. My escape was very 
carefully provided for. But one thinks quickly in 
moments of excitement, and it seemed to me as I 
took those last few steps that I saw a better way.” 

“A better way,” Mannering repeated, puzzled. “I 
am afraid I don’t quite understand you. I presume 
that you meant to rob me. You would not have found 
it worth while, by the bye.” 

The man laughed softly. 

“My dear sir,” he exclaimed, “do I look like a 
robber? Rumour says that you are a poor man. I 
should think it very likely that, although I am not a 
rich one, I am at least as well off as you.” 

Mannering looked out no more for the policeman. 
He was getting interested. 

“Come,” he said, “I should like to understand 
what all this means. You were going to tap me on 
the head with this particularly unpleasant weapon, 
and your motive was not robbery. I am not aware 
of ever having seen you before. I am not aware of 
having an enemy in the world. Explain yourself.” 

“I should be charmed,” the man answered. “I 
do not wish to keep you standing here, however. Will 
you allow me to walk with you towards your home? 


114 


A LOST LEADER 


You can retain possession of that little trifle, if you 
like/’ he added, pointing to the weapon which was 
still in Mannering’ s hand. “I can assure you that I 
have nothing else of the sort in my possession. You 
can feel my pockets, if you like.” 

“I will take your word!” Mannering said. “I was 
on my way to Portland Crescent, but I fancy that I 
have taken a wrong turn.” 

“We can get there this way,” the man answered. 
“ Excuse me one second.” 

He paused, and lit a cigarette. Then with his hands 
behind his back he stepped out by Mannering’s side. 

“What was that you said just now?” he remarked, 
“that you were not aware of having an enemy in the 
world? My dear sir, there was never a more extraor- 
dinary delusion. I should seriously doubt whether in 
the whole of the United Kingdom there is a man who 
has more. I know myself of a million or so who 
would welcome the news of your death to-morrow. I 
know of a select few who have opened, and will open 
their newspapers to-morrow, and for the next few days, 
in the hope of seeing your obituary notice.” 

A light commenced to break in upon Mannering. 
He looked towards his companion incredulously. 

“You mean political opponents!” he exclaimed. 
“Is that what you are driving at all the time?” 

The man laughed softly. 

“My friend,” he said — “excuse me, Mr. Manner- 
ing — you remind me irresistibly of Punch's cartoon 
last week — the ostrich politician with his head in the 
sand. You have thrust yours very deep down indeed, 
when you talk of political opponents. Do you know 
what they call you in the North, sir?” 


ONE OF THE “SUFFERERS” 115 


“No!” 

“The enemy of the people! It isn’t a pleasant 
title, is it?” 

“It is a false one!” Mannering declared, with a little 
note of passion quivering in his tone. 

“It is as true and certain as the judgment of God!” 
his companion answered, with almost lightning-like 
rapidity. 

There was a moment’s silence. They passed a lamp- 
post, and Mannering, turning his head, scrutinized the 
other’s features closely. 

“I should like to know who you are,” he said, “and 
what your name is.” 

“It is a reasonable curiosity,” the man answered. 
“My name is Fardell, Richard Fardell, and I am a 
retired bookmaker.” 

“A bookmaker!” Mannering repeated, incredulously. 

“Precisely. I should imagine from what I know 
of you, Mr. Mannering, that my occupation, or rather 
my late occupation, is not one which would appeal 
to you favourably. Very likely not! I don’t see 
why it should myself. But at any rate, it taught me 
a lot about my fellow men. I did my business in 
shillings and half-crowns, you see. Did it with the 
working classes, the sort who used to go to a race- 
meeting for a jaunt, and just have a bit on for the 
sake of the sport. Took their missus generally, and 
made a holiday of it, and if they lost they’d grin and 
come and chaff me, and if they won they’d spend the 
money like lords. I made money, of course, bought 
houses, and made a lot more. Then business fell off. 
I didn’t seem to meet with that cheerful holiday-making 
crew at any of the meetings up in the North, and I 


116 


A LOST LEADER 


got sick of it. You see, I’d made sort of friends with 
them. They all knew Dicky Fardell, and I knew 
hundreds of ’em by sight. They’d come and mob me 
to stand ’em a drink when the wrong horse won, and I 
can tell you I never refused. They were always good- 
tempered, real sports to the backbone, and I tell you 
I was fond of ’em. And then they left off coming. 
I couldn’t understand it at first. The one or two 
who came talked of bad trade, and when I asked 
after their pals they shook their heads. They betted 
in shillings instead of half-crowns, and I didn’t like 
the look of their faces when they lost. I tell you, it 
got so at last that I used to watch for the horse 
they’d put their bit on to win, and feel kind o’ sick 
when it didn’t. You can imagine I couldn’t stand that 
sort of thing long. I chucked it, and I went to look 
for my pals. I wanted to find out what had become 
of them.” 

Mannering looked at him curiously. 

“You found, I hope,” he said, drily, “that the Brit- 
ish workman had discovered a better investment for 
his shillings and half-crowns than the race-course.” 

Mr. Richard Fardell smiled pleasantly, but tolerantly. 

“It’s clear,” he said, “that you, meaning no offence, 
Mr. Mannering, know nothing about the British work- 
man. Whatever else he may be, he’s a sportsman. 
He’ll look after his wife and kids as well as the 
best of them, but he’ll have his bit of sport so long 
as he’s got a copper in his pocket. When he didn’t 
come I put my kit on one side and went to look for 
him. I went, mind you, as his friend, and knowing 
a bit about him. And what I found has made a 
changed man of me.” 


ONE OF THE “SUFFERERS 


117 


Mannering nodded. 

“I am afraid things are bad up in the North,” he 
said. “You mustn’t think that we people who are 
responsible for the laws of the country ignore this, 
Mr. Fardell. It is a very anxious time indeed with all 
of us. Still, I presume you study the monthly trade 
returns. Some industries seem prosperous enough.” 

“I’m no politician,” Fardell answered, curtly. 
“Figures don’t interest me. They’re just the drugs 
some of your party use to keep your conscience quiet. 
Things I see and know of are what I go by. And 
what I’ve seen, and what I know of, are just about 
enough to tear the heart out of any man who cares 
a row of pins about his fellows. Now I’m going to 
talk plain English to you, Mr. Mannering. I bought 
that little article you have in your pocket seriously 
meaning to knock you on the head with it. And 
that may come yet.” 

Mannering looked at him in amazement. 

“But my dear sir,” he said, “what is your griev- 
ance against me? I have always considered myself a 
people’s politician.” 

“Then the people may very well say 'save me from 
my friends’,” Fardell answered, grimly. “Mind, I 
believe you’re honest, or you’d be lying on your back 
now with a cracked skull. But you are using a great 
influence on the wrong side. You’re standing between 
the people and the one reasonable scheme which has 
been brought forward which has a fair chance of 
changing their condition.” 

Then Mannering began to understand. 

“I oppose the scheme you speak of,” he answered, 
“simply because I don’t believe in it. Every man 


118 


A LOST LEADER 


has a right to his opinion. I don't believe for a 
moment that it would improve the present condition 
of things.” 

“Then what is your scheme?” Fardell asked. 

“My scheme!” Mannering repeated. “I don’t quite 
understand you!” 

“Of course you don’t/’ Fardell answered, vigor- 
ously. “You can weave academic arguments, you 
can make figures and statistics dance to any damned 
tune you please. If I tried to argue with you, you’d 
squash me flat. And what’s it all come to? My pals 
must starve for the gratification of your intellectual 
vanity. You won’t listen to Tariff Reform. Then 
what do you propose, to light the forges and fill the 
mills? Nothing! I say, unless you’ve got a counter 
scheme of your own, you ought to try ours.” 

“Come, Mr. Fardell,” Mannering said, “I can assure 
you that all I have said and written is the outcome 
of honest thought. I ” 

“Stop!” Fardell exclaimed. “Honest thought! Yes! 
Where? In your study. That’s where you theo- 
rists do your mischief. You can’t make laws for 
the people in your study. You can’t tell the status 
of the workingman from the figures you read in your 
study. You’re like half the smug people in the 
world who discuss this question in the railway car- 
riages and in their clubs. I’ve heard ’em till I’d like 
to shove their self-opinionated arguments down their 
throats, strip their clothes off their backs, and send 
them down to live with my pals, or starve with them. 
Any little idiot who buys a penny paper and who’s 
doing pretty well for himself, thinks he can lay down 
the law about Free Trade, You’re all of one kidney, 


ONE OF THE “SUFFERERS” 119 

sir! You none of you realize this. There are men as 
good as any of you, whose wives and children are as 
dear to them as yours to you, who’ve got to see them 
get thinner and thinner, who don’t know where to get 
a day’s work or lay their hands upon a copper, and all 
the while their kids come crying to them for some- 
thing to eat. Put yourself in their place, sir, and try 
and realize the torture of it. I’ve been amongst ’em. 
I’ve spent half of what I made, and a good many 
thousands it was, buying food for them. Can you 
wonder that my fingers have itched for the throats 
of these smug, prosperous pigs, who spurt platitudes 
and think things are very well as they are because 
they’re making their little bit? What right have you 
— any of you — to hesitate for a second to try any 
means to help those poor devils, unless you’ve got a 
better scheme of your own? Will you tell me that, 
sir?” 

They had reached Mannering’s house, and he threw 
open the gate. 

“You must come in with me and talk about these 
things,” Mannering said, gravely. “You seem to be 
the sort of person I’ve been wanting to meet for a 
long time.” 


CHAPTER IV 


DEBTS OF HONOUR 

B ERENICE found the following morning a note from 
Borrowdean, which caused her some perplexity. 

“If you really care/’ he said, “to do Mannering a 
good turn, look his niece up now and then. I am afraid 
that young woman has rather lost her head since she 
came to London, and she is making friends who will do 
her no particular good.” 

Berenice ordered her carriage early, and drove round 
to Portland Crescent. 

“My dear child,” she exclaimed, as Clara came into 
the room, “what have you been doing with yourself? 
You look ghastly!” 

Clara shrugged her shoulders, and looked at herself 
in a mirror. 

“I do look chippy, don’t I?” she remarked. “I’ve 
been spending the week-end down at Bristow.” 

“At Bristow?” Berenice repeated. Her voice spoke 
volumes. Clara looked up a little defiantly. 

“Yes! We had an awful spree! I like it there 

immensely, only ” 

Berenice looked up. 

“I notice,” she remarked, ''that there is generally 
an 'only’ about people who have spent week-ends at 
Bristow. They play cards there, don’t they, until 
daylight? Some one once told me that they kept a 
professional croupier for roulette!” 


DEBTS OF HONOUR 


121 


“That horrid game!” Clara exclaimed. “Please 
don’t mention it. I’ve scarcely slept a wink all 
night for thinking of it.” 

Berenice looked at her in surprise. 

“Do you mean to say,” she inquired, deliberately, 
“that they allowed you to play — and lose?” 

“It wasn’t their fault I lost,” Clara answered. “Oh, 
what a fool I was. Bobby Bristow showed me a sys- 
tem. It seemed so easy. I didn’t think I could pos- 
sibly lose. It worked beautifully at first. I thought 
that I was going to pay all my bills, and have lots of 
money to spend. Then I doubled the stakes — I wanted 
to win a lot — and everything w T ent wrong!” 

“How much did you lose?” Berenice asked. Clara 
shivered. 

“Don’t ask me!” she cried. “Sir Leslie Borrow- 
dean gave his own cheques for all my I. 0. U.’s. He 
is coming to see me some time to-day. I don’t know 
what I shall say to him.” 

“Do you mean to go on playing?” Berenice asked, 
quietly, “or is this experience enough for you?” 

“I shall never sit at a roulette table again as long 
as I live,” she declared. “I hate the very thought 
of it.” 

“Then you can just ask Sir Leslie the amount of 
the I. 0. U.’s, and tell him that he shall have a 
cheque in the morning,” Berenice said. “I will lend 
you the money.” 

Clara gave a little gasp. 

“You are too kind,” she exclaimed, “but I don’t 
know when I shall be able to repay you. It is 
nearly three hundred pounds!” 

“So long as you keep your word,” Berenice an- 


122 


A LOST LEADER 


swered, “and do not play again, you need never let 
that trouble you. You shall have the cheque before 
two o'clock. No, please don't thank me. If you 
take my advice you won't spend another week-end at 
Bristow. It is not a fit house for young girls. How 
is your uncle?" 

“I haven't seen him this morning," Clara answered. 
“Perkins told me that he came home after mid- 
night with a man whom he seemed to have picked 
up in the street, and they were in the study talking 
till nearly five this morning." 

Berenice rose. 

“I came to see if you would care to drive down to 
Ranelagh with me this morning," she said, “but you 
are evidently fit for nothing except to go back to bed 
again. I won't forget the cheque, and remember me 
to your uncle. By the bye, where's that nice young 
man who used to be always with you down in the 
country?" 

“You must mean Mr. Lindsay," Clara answered. 
“I have no idea. At Blakely, I suppose." 

“If I were you," Berenice said, as she rose, “I 
should write to him to come up and look after you 
You need it!" 

She nodded pleasantly and took her leave. Clara 
threw herself into a chair and rang the bell. 

“Perkins," she said, “I have had no sleep and no 
breakfast. What should you recommend?" 

“An egg beaten up in milk, miss," the man sug- 
gested, “same as I've just taken Mr. Mannering." 

“Is my uncle up?" Clara asked. 

“Not yet, miss," the man answered. “He is just 
dressing." 


DEBTS OF HONOUR 


123 


Clara nodded. 

“Very well. Please get me what you said, and if 
Sir Leslie Borrowdean calls I want to see him at once.” 

“Sir Leslie is in the study now, miss,” the man 
answered. “I showed him in there because I thought 
he would want to see Mr. Mannering, but he asked 
for you.” 

“Will you say that I shall be there in three minutes,” 
Clara said. 

The three minutes became rather a long quarter 
of an hour, but Clara had used the time well. When 
she entered the library she had changed her dress, 
rearranged her hair, and by some means or another 
had lost her unnatural pallor. Sir Leslie greeted her 
a little gravely. 

“Glad to see you looking so fit,” he remarked. 
“They did us a bit too well down at Bristow, I 
thought. It’s all very well for you children,” he con- 
tinued, with a smile, “but when a man gets to my 
time of life he misses a night’s rest.” 

She smiled. 

“You don’t call yourself old, Sir Leslie!” she 
remarked. 

“Well, I’m not young, although I like to think I 
am,” he answered. “I’m afraid there’s pretty nearly 
a generation between us, Miss Clara. By the bye, 
where’s your uncle this morning?” 

“Getting up,” she answered. “He did not go to 
bed until after five, Perkins tells me. He brought 
some one home with him from Dorchester’s reception, 
or some one he picked up afterwards, and they seem 
to have sat up talking all night.” 

Borrowdean was interested. 


124 


A LOST LEADER 


“ You have no idea who it was, I suppose?” he asked. 

She shook her head. 

“None at all. Perkins had never seen him before. 
When do you poor creatures get your holiday, Sir 
Leslie?” 

He smiled. 

“The session will be over in about three weeks,” 
he answered, “unless we defeat the Government be- 
fore then. Your uncle has been hitting them very 
hard lately. I think before long we shall be in office.” 

“Politics,” she said, “seems to be rather a greedy 
sort of business. You are always trying to turn the 
other side out, aren’t you?” - 

“You must remember,” he answered, “that politics 
is rather a one-sided sort of affair. The party which 
is in makes a very comfortable living out of it, and 
we who are out have to scrape along as best we can. 
Rather hard upon people like your uncle and myself, 
who are, comparatively speaking, poor men. That 
reminds me,” he said, bringing out his pocket-book, 
“I thought that I had better bring you these little 
documents.” 

“Those horrid I. 0. U.’s,” she remarked. 

“Yes,” he answered. “I am sorry that you were 
so unlucky. I bought these from the bank, Miss 
Clara, as I thought you would not feel comfortable 
if you had to leave Bristow owing this money to 
strangers.” 

“It was very thoughtful of you,” she murmured. 
He changed his seat and came over to her side on the 
sofa. 

“Have you any idea how much they come to?” 
he asked, smoothing them out upon his knee. 


DEBTS OF HONOUR 125 

“I am afraid to nearly three hundred pounds,” she 
answered. 

He shook his head gravely. 

U I am sorry to say that they come to a good deal 
more than that,” he said. “I hope you do not forget 
that I took the liberty of advising you more than once 
to stop. You had the most abominable luck.” 

“More than three hundred?” she gasped. “How 
much more?” 

“They seem to add up to five hundred and eighty 
five pounds,” he declared. “I must confess that I 
was surprised myself.” 

“There — I think there must be some mistake,” 
Clara faltered. 

He handed them to her. 

“You had better look them through,” he said. 
“They seem all right.” 

She took them in her hand, and looked at them 
helplessly. There was one there for fifty pounds 
which she tried in vain to remember — and how shaky 
her handwriting was. A sudden flood of recollection 
brought the colour into her cheeks. She remembered 
the long table, the men all smoking, the women most 
of them a little hard, a little too much in earnest — 
the soft click of the ball, the silent, sickening mo- 
ments of suspense. Others had won or lost as much 
as she, but perhaps because she had been so much 
in earnest, her ill-luck had attracted some attention. 
She remembered Major Bristow’s whispered offer, or 
rather suggestion, of help. Even now her cheeks 
burned at something in his tone or look. 

“I suppose it’s all right,” she said, dolefully, “only 
it’s a lot more than I thought. I shall have three 


126 A LOST LEADER 

hundred pounds in the morning, but I’ve no idea where 
to get the rest.” 

“You are sure about the three hundred?” Sir Leslie 
asked, quietly. 

“Quite.” 

“Then I think that you had better let me lend you 
the rest, for the present,” he suggested. “I am afraid 
your uncle would be rather annoyed to know that you 
had been gambling to such an extent. You may be 
able to think of some way of paying me back later on.” 

She looked up at him hesitatingly. There was 
nothing in his manner which suggested in the least 
what Major Bristow had almost pronounced. She 
drew a little breath of relief. He was so much older, 
and after all, he was her uncle’s friend. 

“Can you really spare it, Sir Leslie?” she asked. 
“I can’t tell you how grateful I should be.” 

He looked down at her with a faint smile. 

“I can spare it for the present,” he answered. 
“Only if you see any chance of paying me back 
before long, do so.” 

“You will pardon my interference,” said an ominously 
quiet voice from the doorway, “but may I inquire 
into the nature of this transaction between you and 
my niece, Sir Leslie? Perhaps you had better explain 
it, Clara!” 

They both turned quickly round. Mannering was 
standing upon the threshold, the morning paper in 
his hand. Clara sank into a chair and covered her 
face with her hands. Sir Leslie shrugged his shoulders. 

He was congratulating himself upon the discretion 
with which he had conducted the interview. He had 
for a few moments entertained other ideas. 


DEBTS OF HONOUR 127 

“ Perhaps you will allow me to explain — ” he 
began. 

“I should prefer to hear my niece,” Mannering 
answered, coldly. 

Clara looked up. She was pale and frightened, and 
she had hard work to choke down the sobs. 

“Sir Leslie was down at Bristow, where I was 
staying — this last week-end,” she explained. “I lost 
a good deal of money there at roulette. He very 
kindly took up my I. 0. U.’s for me, and was offer- 
ing when you came in to let it stand for a little 
time.” 

“What is the amount?” Mannering asked. 

Clara did not answer. Her head sank again. Her 
uncle repeated his inquiry. There was no note of 
anger in his tone. He might have been speaking of 
an altogether indifferent matter. 

“I am afraid I shall have to trouble you to tell me 
the exact amount,” he said. “Perhaps, Borrowdean, 
you would be so good as to inform me, as my niece 
seems a little overcome.” 

“The amount of the I. 0. U.’s for which I gave my 
cheque,” Borrowdean said, “was five hundred and 
eighty-seven pounds. I have the papers here.” 

There was a dead silence for a moment or two. 
Clara looked up furtively, but she could learn nothing 
from her uncle’s face. It was some time before he 
spoke. When at last he did, his voice was certainly 
a little lower and less distinct than usual. 

“Did I understand you to say — five hundred and 
eighty-seven pounds?” 

“That is the amount,” Borrowdean admitted. “I 
trust that you do not consider my interference in 


128 


A LOST LEADER 


any way officious, Mannering. I thought it best to 
settle the claims of perfect strangers against Miss 
Mannering.” 

“May I ask,” Mannering continued, “in whose house 
my niece was permitted to lose this sum?” 

“It was at the Bristows’,” Clara answered. 

“And under whose chaperonage were you?” Manner- 
ing asked. 

“Lady Bristow’s! She called for me here, and took 
me down last Friday.” 

“Are these people who are generally accounted re- 
spectable?” Mannering asked. 

“I don’t think that Bristow is much better or worse 
than half of our country houses,” Borrowdean an- 
swered. “People who are at all in the swim must have 
excitement nowadays, you know. Bristow himself isn’t 
very popular, but people go to the house.” 

Mannering made no further remark. 

“If you will come into the study, Borrowdean,” 
he said, “I. will settle this matter with you.” 

Borrowdean hesitated. 

“Your niece said something about having three 
hundred pounds,” he remarked. 

Mannering glanced towards her. 

“I think,” he said, “that that must be a mistake. 
My niece has no such sum at her command.” 

Clara rose to her feet. 

“You may as well know everything,” she said. 
“The Duchess of Lenchester came in and found me 
very unhappy this morning. I told her everything, 
and she offered to lend me the money. I told her 
then that it was only three hundred pounds. I thought 
that was all I owed.” 


DEBTS OF HONOUR 129 

“Have you made any other confidants?” Mannering 
asked. 

“No!” 

“You will return the Duchess’s cheque,” Mannering 
said. “Borrowdean, will you come this way?” 


CHAPTER V 


love versus politics 

B ERENICE was a little annoyed. It was the hour 
before dressing for dinner which she always de- 
voted to repose — the hour saved from the stress of 
the day which had helped towards keeping her the 
young woman she certainly was. Yet Borrowdean’s 
message was too urgent to ignore. She suffered her 
maid to wrap some sort of loose gown about her, and 
received him in her own study. 

“My dear Sir Leslie/’ she said, a little reproach- 
fully, “was this really necessary? You know that 
after half -past six I am practically a person not 
existing — until dinner time!” 

“I should not have ventured to intrude upon you,” 
Borrowdean said, quickly, “if the circumstances had 
not been altogether exceptional. I know your habits 
too well. I have just come from Mannering.” 

‘ ‘ From M annering — yes ! ’ ’ 

“Duchess,” Borrowdean said, “have you — forgive 
a blunt question — but have you any influence over 
him?” 

Berenice was silent for several moments. 

“You ask me rather a hard question,” she said. 
“A few months ago I think that I should have said 
yes. To-day — I am not sure. What has happened? 
Is anything wrong with him?” 

“Nothing, except that he seems to have gone mad,” 


LOVE versus POLITICS 


131 


Borrowdean said, bitterly. “I went to him to-day to 
get him to fix the dates for his meetings at Glasgow 
and Leeds. What do you think his answer was?” 

‘‘Don’t tell me that he wants to back out!” Bere- 
nice exclaimed. “ Don’t tell me that!” 

“Almost as bad! He told me quite coolly that 
he was not prepared finally to set out his views upon 
the question until he had completed a course of per- 
sonal investigation in some of the Northern centres 
of trade, to which he had committed himself.” 

Berenice looked bewildered. 

“But what on earth does he mean?” she exclaimed. 
“Surely he knows all that there is to be known. His 
mastery of statistics is something wonderful.” 

“What he means no man save himself can even 
surmise,” Borrowdean answered. “He told me that 
he had had information of a state of distress in 
some of our Northern towns — Newcastle and Hull 
he mentioned, and some of the Lancashire places — 
which had simply appalled him. He was determined to 
verify it personally, and to commit himself to nothing 
further until he had done so. And he even asked 
me if I could not find him a pair until the end of 
the session, so that he could get away at once. I was 
simply dumbfounded. A pair for Mannering!” 

Berenice rose to her feet. She walked up and down 
the little room restlessly. 

“Sir Leslie,” she said at last, “I am not sure whether 
I have what you would call any influence over Mr. 
Mannering now or not. I might have had but for 
you!” 

“For me?” Borrowdean exclaimed. 

“Yes. It was you who told me of — of — that woman,” 


132 


A LOST LEADER 


she said, haughtily, but with the colour rising almost 
to her temples. “ After that, of course things were 
different between us. We are scarcely upon such 
terms at present as would justify my interference. ,, 

Borrowdean dropped his eyeglass, and swung it 
deliberately by its black ribbon. He looked steadily 
at Berenice, but his eyes seemed to travel past her. 

“My dear Duchess,” he said, quietly, “the game 
of life is a great one to play, and we who would keep 
our hands upon the board must of necessity make 
sacrifices. It is your duty to disregard in this instance 
your feelings towards Mannering. You must consider 
only his feelings towards you. They are such, I be- 
lieve, as to give you a hold over him. You must make 
use of that hold for the sake of a great cause.” 

Berenice raised her eyebrows. 

“Indeed! You seem to forget, Sir Leslie, that my 
share in this game, as you call it, must always be a 
passive one. I have no office to gain, no rewards to 
reap. Why should I commit myself to an unpleasant 
task for the sake of you and your friends?” 

“It is your party,” he protested. “Your party as 
much as ours.” 

“Granted,” she answered. “Yet who are the re- 
sponsible members of it? You know my opinion of 
Mannering as a politician. I would sooner follow 
him blindfold than all the others with my eyes open. 
Whatever he may lack, he is the most honest and 
right-seeing politician who ever entered the House.” 

“He lacks but one thing,” Borrowdean said, “the 
mechanical adjustment of the born politician to party 
matters. There was never a time when absolute 
unity and absolute force were so necessary. If he is 


LOVE versus POLITICS 


133 


going to play the intelligent inquirer, if he falters for 
one moment in his wholesale condemnation of this 
scheme, he loses the day for himself and for us. The 
one thing which the political public never forgives is 
the man who stops to think.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Berenice asked. 

“To go to him and find out what he means, what 
influences have been at work, what is underneath it 
all. Warn him of the danger of even appearing 
doubtful, or for a moment lukewarm. The one person 
whom the public will not have in politics is the trifler. 
Think how many there have been, brilliant men, too, 
who have lost their places through a single false step, 
a single year, a month of dilettantism. Remind him 
of them. The man who moves in a great cause may 
move slowly, if you will, but he must move all the 
time. Remind him, too, that he is risking the one 
great chance of his life!” 

“He is to be Premier, then?” she asked. 

“Yes! There is no alternative!” 

“Very well, then,” she said, “I will go. I make no 
promises, mind. I will listen to what he has to say. 
I will put our view of the situation before him. But 
I make no promises. It is possible, even, that I shall 
come to his point of view, whatever it may be.” 

Borrowdean smiled. 

“I have no fear of that,” he declared, “but at least 
it would be something to know what this point of 
view is. You will find him in a queer mood. That 
little fool of a niece of his has been getting in with a 
fast set, and making the money fly. You have heard 
of her last escapade at Bristow? ” 

Berenice nodded. 


134 


A LOST LEADER 


“Yes,” she said. “I went there this morning di- 
rectly I had your note. I feel rather self-reproachful 
about Clara Mannering. I meant to have looked after 
her more. She is rather an uninteresting young 
woman, though, and I am afraid I have let her drift 
away.” 

“She will be all right with a little looking after,” 
Borrowdean said. “Forgive me, but it is getting 
late.” 

“I will go at once,” she said. 

Afterwards she wondered often at that strange, un- 
certain fluttering of the heart, the rush and glow of 
feelings warmer than any which had lately stirred her, 
which seemed in those first few minutes of their being 
together, to make an altered woman of her. Manner- 
ing, as he entered the room, pale and listless, was 
conscious at once of a foreign element in it, something 
which starred his somewhat slow-beating pulse, too, 
which seemed to bring back to him a flood of delicious 
memories, the perfume of his rose-gardens at evening, 
the soft night music of his wind-stirred cedars. She 
had thrown aside her opera cloak. The delicate lines 
of her bust seemed to have expanded with the unusual 
rise and fall of her bosom. A faint rose-tint flush of 
streaming colour had stained the ivory whiteness of 
her skin — her eyes as they sought his were soft, almost 
liquid. They met so seldom alone — and she was alone 
now with him in the room which was so characteristi- 
cally his own, a room with many indications of his con- 
stant presence, which one by one she had been realizing 
with curiously quickened pulses during the few min- 
utes of waiting. On her way here, driving in an open 


LOVE versus POLITICS 


135 


victoria, through the soft summer evening, she had 
seemed to be pursued everywhere by a new world of 
sensuous suggestions. Of the many carriages which 
she had passed, hers alone seemed to savour of loneli- 
ness. She was the only beautiful woman who sat alone 
and companionless. In a momentary block she had 
seen a man in a neighbouring hansom slip his hand, a 
strong, brown, well-looking hand, under the apron, to 
hold for a moment the fingers of the woman who sat 
by his side — Berenice had caught the answering smile, 
she had seen him lean forward and whisper something 
which had brought a deeper flush into her own cheeks 
and a look into her eyes, half amused, half tender. 
These were rare moments with her, these moments of 
sentiment — perhaps for that reason all the more dan- 
gerous. She forgot almost the cause of her coming. 
She remembered only that she was alone with the one 
man whose voice had the power to thrill her, whose 
touch would call up into life the great hidden forces of 
her own passionate nature. The memory of all other 
things passed away from her like a cloud gone from 
the face of the sun. She leaned towards him. His 
face was full of wonder — wonder, and the coming joy. 

“ Berenice!” he exclaimed. 

She let herself drift down the surging tide of this 
suddenly awakened passion. She held out her arms 
and pressed her lips on his as he caught her. 

Presently she pushed him gently away — held him 
there at arm’s length. 

“This is too absurd,” she murmured, and drew him 
once more towards her with a choking little laugh. 
“I came for something quite different!” 


136 


A LOST LEADER 


“What does it matter what you came for, so long 
as you stay,” he answered. “Say that you came to 
bring a glimpse of paradise to a lonely man!” 

She disengaged herself, and her long white fingers 
strayed mechanically to her tumbled hair. The ele- 
gant precision of her toilette had given place to a most 
distracting disarray. She felt her cheeks burning still, 
and the lace at her bosom was all crushed. 

“And I was on my way to a dinner party,” she 
whispered, with humorously uplifted eyebrows. “I 
must drive back home, and — and ” 

“And what?” he demanded. 

“And send an excuse,” she declared, demurely. “I 
am not equal to a family dinner party.” 

“And afterwards?” 

She smiled. 

“Would you like,” she asked, “to take me out to 
dinner?” 

“Would I like!” 

“Go and change, and call for me in half an hour. 
We can go somewhere where we are not likely to be 
seen,” she said, softly. “I must cover myself up in 
my cloak. Whatever will Perkins say? Please re- 
member that I have no hat.” 

He held her hands and looked into her eyes. 

“Don’t go for one moment,” he pleaded. “I want 
to realize it. I want to feel sure of you.” 

The gravity of his manner was for a moment re- 
flected in her tone. 

“I think,” she said, “that you may feel sure. 
There are things which we may have to say to one 
another — presently — but 1 1 

He stooped and kissed her fingers. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE CONSCIENCE OF A STATESMAN 

H E was shown into her own little boudoir by a 
smiling maid-servant, who seemed already to 
treat him with an especial consideration. The wonder 
of this thing was still lying like a thrall upon him, and 
yet he knew that the joy of life was burning once more 
in his veins. He caught sight of himself in a mirror, 
and he was amazed. The careworn look had gone 
from his eyes, the sallowness from his complexion. 
His step was elastic, he felt the firm, quick beat of his 
heart, even his pulses seem to throb to a new and a 
wonderful tune. These moments whilst he waited for 
her were a joy to him. The atmosphere was fragrant 
with the perfume of her favourite roses, a book lay 
upon the little inlaid table face downwards as she had 
left it. There was a delicately engraved etching upon 
the wall, which he recognized as her work; the water- 
colours, all of a French school which he had often 
praised, were of her choosing. Perfect though the 
room was in colouring and detail, there was yet a 
habitable, almost a homely, air about it. Mannering 
moved about amidst her treasures like a man in a 
dream, only it was a dream of loneliness gone for- 
ever, of a grey life suddenly coloured and transformed. 
It was wonderful. 

Then the soft swish of a skirt, and she came in. 
She had changed her gown. She wore white lace, 


138 


A LOST LEADER 


with a string of pearls about her neck. He looked 
eagerly into her face, and a great relief took the place 
of that single instant of haunting fear. The change 
was still there. It was not the great lady who swept 
in, but the woman who has found an answer to the 
one question of life, a little tremulous still, a little less 
self-assured. She looked at him almost appealingly. 
A delicate tinge of colour lingered in her cheeks. He 
moved quickly forward to meet her. 

“Dear!” she murmured. 

He raised her hand to his lips. He was satisfied. 

“You see what my new-born vanity has led to,” she 
declared, smilingly. “I have had to keep you waiting 
whilst I changed my gown. I hope you like me in 
white.” 

“You are adorable,” he declared. 

She laughed. 

“I wonder,” she said, “would you mind dining here 
alone with me? It will be quite a scratch meal, but 
I thought that it would be cosier than a restaurant, 
and afterwards — we could come in here and talk.” 

“I should like it better than anything in the world,” 
he declared, truthfully. 

“You may take me in, then,” she said. “I hope 
that you are as hungry as I am. No, not that way. 
I have ordered dinner to be served in the little room 
where I dine when I am alone.” 

To Mannering there seemed something almost un- 
real about the chaste perfection of the meal and its 
wonderful service. They dined at a small round table, 
so small that more than once their fingers touched upon 
the tablecloth. A single servant waited upon them, 
swiftly and perfectly. The butler appeared only with 


CONSCIENCE OF A STATESMAN 


139 


the wine, which he served, and quietly withdrew. 
Across the tangled mass of flowers, only a few feet away 
all the time, sat the woman who had suddenly made 
the world so beautiful to him. A murmur of conver- 
sation continually flowed between them, but he was 
never very sure what they were talking about. He 
wanted to sit still, to feast his eyes, all his senses, 
upon her, to strive to realize this new thing, that from 
henceforth she was his! And then suddenly she broke 
the spell. She leaned back in her chair and laughed 
softly. 

“I have just remembered,” she said, in response to 
his inquiring look, “why I came to call upon you this 
evening. What a long time ago it seems.” 

He smiled. 

“And I never thought to ask you,” he remarked. 

“We must have no secrets now,” she said, with a 
delightful smile. “Leslie Borrowdean came to see me 
this afternoon, and he was very anxious about you. 
He declared that you wanted to postpone your great 
meetings in the North until after you had made some 
independent investigations in some of the manufacturing 
centres. Poor Sir Leslie! You had frightened him so 
completely that he was scarcely coherent.” 

Mannering smiled a little gravely. It was like com- 
ing back to earth. 

“Politics with Borrowdean are so much a matter of 
pounds, shillings and pence that the bare idea of his 
finding himself a day further away from office frightens 
him to death,” he said. “We are all like the pawns, 
to be moved about the chessboard of his life.” 

Berenice smiled. 

“He is certainly a very self-centred person,” she 


140 


A LOST LEADER 


remarked; “but do you know, I am really a little curi- 
ous to know how you succeeded in frightening him so 
thoroughly.” 

“I had a fright myself,” Mannering said. “I was 
made to feel for an hour or so like a Rip van Win- 
kle with the cobwebs hanging about me — Rip van 
Winkle looking out upon a new world!” 

“You a Rip van Winkle!” she laughed. “What 
was it that man who wrote in the Nineteenth Century 
called you last week? ‘The most precise and far-seeing 
of our politicians.’” 

“The men who write in reviews,” he murmured, 
“sometimes display the most appalling ignorance. 
There was also some one in the Saturday Review who 
alluded to me last week as a library politician. My 
friend quoted that against me. ‘A man who essays 
to govern a people he knows nothing of.’ It was 
one of the labour party who wrote it, I know, but it 
sticks.” 

“You are not losing confidence in yourself, surely?” 
she remarked, smiling. 

“My views are unchanged, if that is what you mean,” 
he answered. “I believe I know what is good for the 
people, and when I am sure of it I shall not be afraid 
to take up the gauntlet. But I must be quite sure.” 

“You puzzle me a little,” she admitted. “Has any 
one written more convincingly than you? Arguments 
which are founded upon logic and statistics must yield 
truth, and you have set it down in black and white.” 

“On the other hand,” he said, “my unlearned but 
eloquent friend dismissed all statistics, all the science 
of argument and deduction, with the wave of a not 
too scrupulously clean hand. ‘Figures/ he said, ‘are 


CONSCIENCE OF A STATESMAN 141 


dead things. They are the playthings of the charlatan 
politician, who, by a sort of mental sleight of hand, 
can make them perform the most wonderful antics. 
If you desire the truth, seek it from live things. If 
you desire really to call yourself the champion of the 
people, come and see for yourself how they are faring. 
Figures will not feed them, nor statistics keep them 
from the great despair. Come and let me show you 
the sinews of the country, whether they are sound or 
rotten. You cannot see them through your library 
walls. It is only the echo of their voice which you 
hear so far off. If you would really be the people’s 
man, come and learn something of the people from 
their own lips.’ This is what my friend said to me.” 

“And who,” she asked, “was this prophet who came 
to you and talked like this?” 

“A retired bookmaker,” he answered. “I will tell 
you of our meeting.” 

She listened gravely. After he had finished there 
was a short silence. The dessert was on the table, 
and they were alone. Berenice was looking thoughtful. 

“Tell me,” he begged, “exactly what that wrinkled 
forehead means?” 

“I was wondering,” she said, “whether Sir Leslie 
was right, when he said that you had too much 
conscience ever to be a great politician.” 

“It mirrors Borrowdean’s outlook upon politics pre- 
cisely,” he remarked. 

She smiled at him with a sudden radiance. She 
had risen to her feet, and with a quick, graceful move- 
ment leaned over him. This new womanliness which 
he had found so irresistible was alight once more in 
her face. Her eyes sought his fondly, she touched 


142 


A LOST LEADER 


his lips with hers. The perfume of her clothes, the 
touch of her hair upon his cheek, were like a drug. 
He had no more words. 

“You may have one peach and one glass of the 
Prince’s Burgundy, and then you must come and look 
for me,” she said. “We have wasted too much time 
talking of other things. You haven’t even told me 
yet what I have a right to hear, you know. I want 
to be told that you care for me better than anything 
else in the world.” 

He caught her hands. There was a rare passion 
vibrating in his tone. 

“You do not doubt it, Berenice?” 

“Perhaps not,” she answered, “but I want to be 
told. I am a middle-aged woman, you know, Law- 
rence, but I want to be made love to as though I 
were a silly girl! Isn’t that foolish? But you must 
do it,” she whispered, with her lips very close to his. 

He drew her into his arms. 

“I am not at all sure,” he said, “that I have enough 
courage to make love to a Duchess!” 

“Then you can remember only that I am a woman,” 
she whispered, “very, very, very much a woman, and 
— I’m afraid — a woman shockingly in love!” 

She disengaged herself suddenly, and was at the 
door before he could reach it. She looked back. Her 
cheeks were flushed. There was even a faint tinge 
of pink underneath the creamy white of her slender, 
stately neck. 

“Don’t dare,” she said, “to be more than five 
minutes!” 

Mannering poured himself out a glass of wine, and 
sat quite still with his head between his hands. He 


CONSCIENCE OF A STATESMAN 


143 


wanted to realize this thing if he could. The grind- 
ing of the great wheels fell no more upon his ears. 
He looked into a new world, so different from the old 
that he was almost afraid. 

And in her room, Berenice waited for him im- 
patiently. 


CHAPTER YII 


A BLOW FOR BORROWDEAN 


HERE was a somewhat unusual alertness in 



JL Borrowdean’s manner as he passed out from 
the little house in Sloane Gardens and summoned a 
passing hansom. He drove to the corner of Hyde 
Park, and dismissing the cab strolled along the broad 


walk. 


The many acquaintances whom he passed and re- 
passed he greeted with a certain amount of abstrac- 
tion. All the time he kept his eyes upon the road. 
He was waiting to catch sight of some familiar liveries. 
When at last they came he contrived to stop the car- 
riage and hastily threaded his way to the side of the 
barouche. 

Berenice was looking radiantly beautiful. The ex- 
quisite simplicity of her white muslin gown and large 
hat of black feathers, the slight flush with which she 
received him, as though she carried about with her a 
secret which she expected every one to read, the ex- 
tinction of that air of listlessness which had robbed 
her for some time of a certain share of her good looks — 
of all these things Borrowdean made quick note. His 
face grew graver as he accepted her not very enthu- 
siastic invitation and occupied the back seat of the 
carriage. For the first time he admitted to himself 
the possibility of failure in his carefully laid plans. 
He recognized the fact that there were forces at work 


A BLOW FOR BORROWDEAN 


145 


against which he had no weapon ready. He had 
believed that Berenice was attracted by Mannering’s 
personality and genius. He had never seriously con- 
sidered the question of her feelings becoming more 
deeply involved. So many men had paid vain court 
to her. She had a wonderful reputation for inaccessi- 
bility. And yet he remembered her manner when he 
had paid his first unexpected visit to Blakely. It 
should have been a lesson to him. How far had the 
mischief gone, he wondered! 

“So Mannering has gone North,” he remarked, 
noticing that she avoided the subject. 

She nodded. Her parasol drooped a little his way, 
and he wondered whether it was because she desired 
her face hidden. 

“You saw him?” 

“Yes,” she answered. “He explained how he felt 
to me.” 

“And you could not dissuade him?” 

“I did not try,” she answered, simply. “Lawrence 
Mannering is not a man of ordinary disposition, you 
know. He had come to the conclusion that it was 
right for him to go, and opposition would only have 
made him the more determined. I cannot see that 
there is any harm likely to come of it.” 

“I am not so sure of that,” Borrowdean answered, 
seriously. “Mannering is au fond a man of sentiment. 
There is no clearer thinker or speaker when his judg- 
ment is unbiassed, but on the other hand, the man’s 
nature is sensitive and complex. He has a sort of 
maudlin self-consciousness which is as dangerous a 
thing as the nonconformist conscience. Heaven knows 
into whose hands he may fall up there.” 


146 


A LOST LEADER 


“He is going incognito,” she remarked. 

“He is not the sort of man to escape notice/’ Bor- 
rowdean answered. “He will be discovered for certain. 
Of course, if it comes off all right, the whole thing will 
be a feather in his cap. But when I think how much 
we are dependent upon him, I don’t like the risk.” 

“You are sure,” she remarked, thoughtfully, “that 
you do not over-rate ” 

“Mannering himself, perhaps,” Borrowdean inter- 
rupted. “There is no man whose personal place 
cannot be filled. But one thing is very certain. 
Mannering is the only man who unites both sides of 
our scattered party, the only man under whom Fer- 
gusson and Johns would both serve. You know quite 
well the curse which has rested upon us. We have 
become a party of units, and our whole effectiveness 
is destroyed. We want welding into one entity. A 
single session, a single year of office, and the thing 
would be done. We who do the mechanical work would 
see that there was no breaking away again. But we 
must have that year, we must have Mannering. That 
is why I watch him like a child, and I must say that 
he has given me a good deal of anxiety lately.” 

“In what way?” she asked. 

Borrowdean hesitated. He seemed uncertain how 
to answer. 

“If I explain what I mean,” he said, “you will 
understand that I do not speak to you as a woman 
and an acquaintance of Mannering’s, but simply as 
one of ourselves. Mannering’s private life is, of course, 
interesting to me only as an index to his political 
destiny, and my acquaintance with it arises solely 
from my political interest in him. There are things 


A BLOW FOR BORROWDEAN 147 

in connection with it which I feel that I shall never 
properly be able to understand.” 

She looked at him steadily. Her cheeks were a 
little whiter, but her tone was deliberate. 

“I do not wish to hear anything about Mr. Man- 
nering’s private life,” she said. “You will under- 
stand that I am not free or disposed to listen when 
I tell you that I am going to marry him.” 

This was perhaps the worst blow Borrowdean had 
ever experienced in the course of his whole life. The 
possibility of this was a danger which he had recog- 
nized might some time have to be reckoned with, but 
for the present he had felt safe enough. He was taken 
so completely aback that for a few moments his mind 
was a blank. He remained silent. 

“You do not offer me the conventional wishes,” 
she remarked, presently. 

“They go — from me to you — as a matter of course,” 
he answered. “To tell you the truth, I never thought 
of Mannering, for many reasons, as a marrying man.” 

“You will have to readjust your views of him,” she 
said, quietly, “for I think that we shall be married 
very soon.” 

Borrowdean was a little white, and his teeth had 
come together. Whatever happened, he told him- 
self, fiercely, this must never be. He felt his breast- 
pocket mechanically. Yes, the letter was there. Dare 
he risk it? She was a proud woman, she would be 
unforgiving if once she believed. But supposing she 
found him out? He temporized. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “Do you 
mind putting me down here?” 

“Why? You seemed in no hurry a few minutes ago.” 


148 


A LOST LEADER 


“The world,” he said, “was a different place then.” 

She looked at him searchingly. 

“You had better tell me all about it,” she re- 
marked. “You have something on your mind, some- 
thing which you are half disposed to tell me, a little 
more than half, I think. Go on.” 

He looked at her as one might look at the magician 
who has achieved the apparently impossible. 

“You are wonderful,” he said. “Yes, I will tell 
you my dilemma, if you like. I have just come from 
Sloane Gardens!” 

Her face changed instantly. It was as though a 
mask had been dropped over it. Her eyes were fixed, 
her features expressionless. 

“Well?” she said, simply. 

He drew a letter from his pocket. 

“You may as well see it yourself,” he remarked. 
“For reasons which you may doubtless understand, 
I have always kept on good terms with Mrs. Philli- 
more, and she was to have dined with me and some 
other friends to-morrow night. Here is a note which 
I had from her yesterday. Will you read it?” 

Berenice held it between her finger tips. There 
were only a few lines, and she read them at a glance. 


“Sloane Gardens, 
u Tuesday. 

“My dear Sir Leslie, 

“I am so sorry, but I must scratch for to-morrow night. 
L. is going North on some mysterious expedition, and I 
am afraid that he will want me to go with him. In fact, 
he has already said so. Ask me again some time, won't 
you? 


“Yours ever, 

“Blanche Phillimore.” 


A BLOW FOR BORROWDEAN 


149 


Berenice folded up the letter and returned it. 

“It is a little extraordinary/’ she remarked. “I 
am much obliged to you for showing me this. If you 
do not mind, we will talk of something else. Look, 
there is Clara Mannering alone under the trees. Go 
and talk to her.” 

Berenice touched the checkstring, and Borrowdean 
was forced to depart. She smiled upon him graciously 
enough, but she spoke not another word about Man- 
nering. Borrowdean was obliged to leave her without 
knowing whether he had lost or gained the trick. 

Clara Mannering received him not altogether gra- 
ciously. As a matter of fact, she was looking for 
some one else. They strolled along, talking almost 
in monosyllables. Borrowdean found time to notice 
the change which even these few months in London 
had wrought in her. She was still graceful in her 
movements, but a smart dressmaker had contrived to 
make her a perfect reproduction of the recognized type 
of the moment. She had lost her delicate colouring. 
There was a certain hardness in her young face, a 
certain pallor and listlessness in her movements which 
Borrowdean did not fail to note. He tried to lead 
the conversation into more personal channels. 

“We seem to have met very little during the last 
month,” he said. “I have scarcely had an oppor- 
tunity to ask you whether you find the life here as 
pleasant as you hoped, whether it has realized your 
expectations.” 

“Does anything ever do that?” she asked, a little 
flippantly. “It is different, of course. I do not think 
that I should be willing to go back to Blakely, at any 
rate,” 


150 


A LOST LEADER 


“ You have made a great many friends/’ he remarked. 
“I hear of you continually.” 

“A host of acquaintances/’ she remarked. “I do 
not think that I have materially increased the circle 
of my friends. I hear of you too, Sir Leslie, very 
often. It seems that people give you a good deal of 
credit for inducing my uncle to come back into politics.” 

“I certainly did my best to persuade him,” Sir Les- 
lie answered, smoothly. “If I had known how much 
anxiety he was going to cause us I might perhaps 
have been a little less keen.” 

“Anxiety!” she repeated. 

“Yes! Do you know where he is now?” 

“I have no idea,” Clara answered. “All that I do 
know is that he has gone away for three weeks, and 
that I am going to stay with the Duchess till he comes 
back. It is very nice of her, and all that, of course, 
but I feel rather as though I were going into prison. 
The Duchess isn’t exactly the modern sort of chaperon.” 

Borrowdean nodded sympathetically. 

“And consider my anxiety,” he remarked. “Your 
uncle has gone North to consider the true position of 
the labouring classes. Now Mr. Mannering is a brilliant 
politician and a sound thinker, but he is also a man of 
sentiment. They will drug him with it up there. He 
will probably come back with half a dozen new schemes, 
and we don’t want them, you know. He ought to be 
speaking at Glasgow and Leeds this week. He simply 
ignores his responsibilities. He yields to a sudden whim 
and leaves us plantes la” 

She seemed scarcely to have heard the conclusion 
of his sentence. Her attention was fixed upon a group 
of men who were talking near. 


A BLOW FOR BORROWDEAN 151 

“Do you know — isn’t that Major Bristow?” she asked 
Borrowdean, abruptly. 

Borrowdean put up his glass. 

“Looks like him,” he admitted. 

“I should be so much obliged,” she said, “if you 
would tell him that I wish to see him. I have a mes- 
sage for his sister,” she concluded, a little lamely. 

Borrowdean did as he was asked. He noticed the 
slight impatience of the man as he delivered his 
message, and the flush with which she greeted him. 
Then, with a little shrug of the shoulders, he pursued 
his way. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST 

S HE swept into the room, humming a light opera 
tune, bringing with her the usual flood of per- 
fumes, suggestion of cosmetics, a vivid apparition of 
the artificial. Her skirts rustled aggressively, her voice 
was just one degree too loud. Mannering rose to his 
feet a little wearily. 

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“ Heave ns !” she exclaimed. “What have you been 
doing with yourself, Lawrence? You look like a 
ghost!” 

“I am quite well,” he answered, calmly. 

“Then you don’t look it,” she answered, bluntly. 
“Where have you been for the last few weeks?” 

“Up in the North,” he answered. “It was very 
hot, and I had a great deal to do. I suppose I am 
suffering, like the rest of us, from a little overwork.” 
She spread herself out in a chair opposite to him. 
“Don’t stand,” she said; “you fidget me. I have 
something to say to you.” 

“So I gathered from your note,” he remarked. 
“You haven’t hurried.” 

“I only got back to London last night,” he answered. 
“I could scarcely come sooner, could I?” 

“I suppose not,” she admitted. 

Then for a moment or two she was silent. She was 
watching him a little curiously. 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST 


153 


“Is this true?” she asked, “this rumour?” 

“Won’t you be a little more explicit?” he begged. 

“They say that you are going to marry the Duchess 
of Lenchester!” 

“It is true,” he answered. 

She leaned forward. Her clasped hands rested upon 
her knee. She seemed to be examining the tip of her 
patent shoe. Suddenly she looked up at him. 

“You ought to have come and told me yourself!” 
she said. 

“I had no opportunity,” he reminded her. “I left 
London the morning after — it happened — and I re- 
turned last night.” 

“Political business?” she asked. 

“Entirely.” 

“Lawrence,” she said, “I don’t like it.” 

“Why not?” he asked. “Has mine been such a 
successful life, do you think, that you need grudge 
me a little happiness towards its close?” 

“Bosh!” she answered. “You are only forty-six. 
You are a young man still.” 

“I had forgotten my years,” he declared. “I only 
know that I am tired.” 

“You look it,” she remarked. “I must say that 
there is very little of the triumphant suitor about 
you. You work too hard, Lawrence.” 

“If I do,” he asked, with a note of fierceness in his 
tone, “ whose fault is it? I was almost happy at 
Blakely. I had almost learned to forget. It was you 
who dragged me out again. You were not satisfied with 
half of my income; you were always in debt, always 
wanting more money. Then Borrowdean made use 
of you. He wanted me back into politics ? you wanted 


154 


A LOST LEADER 


more money for your follies and extravagances. Back 
I had to come into harness. Blanche, I’ve tried to 
do my duty to you, but there is a limit. I owed you 
a comfortable place in life, and I have tried to see that 
you have it. I have never refused anything you have 
asked me, I have never mentioned the sacrifices which 
I have been forced to make. But there is a limit. I 
draw it here. I will not suffer any interference between 
the Duchess of Lenchester and myself!” 

Blanche Phillimore rose slowly to her feet. He was 
used to her fits of passion, but there was no sign of 
anything of the sort in her face. She was agitated, 
but in some new way. Her words were an attack, 
but her manner suggested rather an appeal. Her 
large, fine eyes, her one perfectly natural feature, were 
soft and luminous. They seemed somehow to trans- 
figure her face. To him it seemed like the foolish, 
handsome woman of fifteen years ago who had sud- 
denly come to life again. 

“You owed me — a comfortable place in life, Law- 
rence! Thank — you. You have paid the debt very 
well. You owed me — a respectable guardianship; 
you paid that, too. Thank you again. Now tell me, 
do you owe me nothing else?” 

“I owed you one debt,” he said, gravely, “which 
neither I nor any other man who incurs it can ever 
discharge.” 

“I am glad you realize it,” she answered. “But 
have you ever tried to discharge it? You have given 
me a home and money to throw away on any folly 
which could kill thought. What about the rest?” 

“Blanche,” he said, gravely, “the rest was impossi- 
ble! You know that as well as I do.” 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST 


155 


“It is fifteen years ago, Lawrence,” she said, “and 
all that time we have fenced with our words. Now I 
am going to speak a little more plainly. You robbed 
me of my husband. The fault may not have been 
wholly yours, but the fact remains. You struck him, 
and he died. I was left alone!” 

Mannering's face was ashen. The whole horrible 
scene was rising up again before him. He covered 
his face with his hands. It was more distinct than 
ever. He saw the man's flushed face, heard his stream 
of abuse, felt the sting of his blow, the hot anger with 
which he had struck back. Then those few awful 
moments of suspense, the moment afterwards when 
they had looked at one another. He shivered! Why 
had she let loose this flood of memories? She was 
speaking to him again. 

“I was left alone,” she repeated, quietly, “and I 
have been alone ever since. You don't know much 
about women, Lawrence. You never did! Try and 
realize, though, what that must mean to a woman 
like myself, not strong, not clever, with very few 
resources — just a woman. I cared for my husband, 
I suppose, in an average sort of way. At any rate 
he loved me. Then — there was you. Oh, you never 
made love to me, of course. You were not the sort 
of man to make love to another man's wife. But 
you used to show that you liked to be with me, Law- 
rence. Your voice and your eyes and your whole 
manner used to tell me that. Then there came — that 
hideous day! I lost you both. What have I had since, 
Lawrence?” 

“Very little, I am afraid, worth having.” 

“‘Very little — worth having'!” She flung the words 


156 


A LOST LEADER 


from her with passionate scorn. “I had your alms, 
your cold, hurried visits, when you seemed to shiver 
if our fingers touched. It would have seemed to you, 
I suppose, a terrible sin to have touched the lips of the 
woman whom you had helped to rob of her husband, 
to have spoken kindly to her, to have given her at 
least a little affection to warm her heart. Poor me! 
What a hell you made of my days, with your selfish 
model life, your panderings to conscience. I didn’t 
want much, you know, Lawrence,” she said, with a 
sudden choking in her voice. “I would never have 
robbed you of your peace of mind. All I wanted was 
kindness. And I think, Lawrence, that it was a debt, 
but you never paid it.” 

Mannering had a moment of self-revelation, a terri- 
ble, lurid moment. Every word that she had said 
was true. » 

“You have never spoken to me like this before,” he 
reminded her, desperately. “I never knew that you 
cared.” 

“Don’t lie!” she answered, calmly. “You turned 
your head away that you might not see. In your 
heart you knew very well. What else, do you think, 
made me, a very ordinary, nervous sort of woman, 
get you out of the house that day, tell my story, the 
story that shielded you, without faltering, put even 
the words into your own mouth? It was because I 
was fool enough to care! And oh, my God, how you 
have tortured me since! You would sit there, coldly 
censorious, and reason with me about my friends, 
my manner of life. I knew what you thought. You 
didn’t hide it very well. Lawrence ; I wonder I didn’t 
kill you!” 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST 


157 


“I wish that you had,” he said, bitterly. 

She nodded. 

“Oh, I know how you are feeling just now,” she 
said. “Truth strikes home, you know, and it hurts 
just a little, doesn’t it? In a few days your admirable 
common sense will prevail. You will say to yourself: 
'She was that sort of woman, she had that sort of 
disposition, she was bound to go to the dogs, any- 
way!’ So you are going to marry the Duchess of 
Lenchester, Lawrence ! ’ ’ 

He stood up. 

“Blanche,” he said, “that was all a mistake. I 
didn’t understand. Let us forget that day altogether. 
Marry me now, and I will try to make up for these 
past years.” 

She stared at him blankly. The colour in her cheek 
was like a lurid patch under the pallor of her skin. 
She gave a little gasp, and her hand went to her 
side. Then she laughed hardly, almost offensively. 

“What a man of sentiment,” she declared. “After 
fifteen years, too, and only just engaged to another 
woman! No, thank you, my dear Lawrence. I’ve 
lived my life, such as it has been. I’m not so very 
old, but I look fifty, and I’ve vices enough to blacken 
an entire neighbourhood. Fancy, if people saw me, 
and heard that you might have married the Duchess 
of Lenchester. They’d hint at an asylum.” 

“Never mind about other people,” he said. “Give 
me a chance, Blanche, to show that I’m not such an 
absolute brute.” 

“Rubbish,” she interrupted. “Fifteen years ago 
I would have married you. In fact, I expected to. 
The reason why I found the courage to shield you from 


158 


A LOST LEADER 


any unpleasantness that awful day was because I knew 
if trouble came and there was any scandal you would 
feel yourself obliged to marry me, and I wanted you 
to marry me — because you wanted to. What an idiot 
I was! Now, please go away, Lawrence. Marry the 
Duchess, if you like, but don’t worry me with your 
re-awakened conscience. I’m going my own way for 
the rest of my few years, and the less I see of you the 
better I shall be pleased. You will forgive me — but I 
have an engagement — down the river! I really must 
hurry you off.” 

Her teeth were set close together, the sobs seemed 
tangled in her throat. It seemed to her that all the 
longing in her life was concentrated in that one pas- 
sionate desire, that he should seize her in his arms 
now, hold her there — tell her that it had all been a 
mistake, that the ugly times were dreams, that after 
all he had cared — a little ! The room swam round with 
her, but she pointed smilingly to the door, which her 
trim parlour-maid was holding open. And Mannering 
went. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE FALTERING OF MANNERING 

M ANNERING left by the afternoon train for 
Hampshire, where he was to be the guest for 
a few days of the leader of his party. He arrived 
without sending word of his coming, to find the whole 
of the house party absent at a cricket match. The 
short respite was altogether welcome to him. He 
changed his clothes and wandered off into the gardens. 
Here an hour or so later Berenice’s maid found him. 

“Her Grace would like to see you, sir, if you would 
come to her sitting-room,” the girl said, with a demure 
smile. 

Mannering, with something of an inward groan, 
followed her. Berenice, very slim and stately in her 
simple white muslin gown, rose from the couch as he 
entered, and held out her hands. 

“At last,” she murmured. “You provoking man, 
to stay away so long. And what have you been 
doing with yourself?” 

Her sentence concluded with a little note of dis- 
may. Mannering was positively haggard in the clear 
afternoon light. There were lines underneath his 
eyes, and his face had a tense, drawn appearance. He 
did not kiss her, as she had more than half expected. 
He held her hands for a moment, and then sank down 
upon the couch by her side. 

“It was not exactly easy work — up there,” he said. 


160 


A LOST LEADER 


She noticed the repression. 

“Tell me all about it,” she begged. 

His thoughts surged back to those three weeks of 
tragedy. His personal misery became for the moment 
a shadowy thing. The sorrows of one man, what were 
they to the breaking hearts of millions? He thought 
of the children, and he shuddered. 

“It isn’t so much to tell,” he said. “I have been 
to a dozen or so of the largest towns in the North, and 
have taken the manufacturers one by one. I have 
taken their wage sheets and compared them with past 
years. The result was always the same. Less money 
distributed amongst more people. Afterwards we 
went amongst the people themselves — to see how they 
lived. It was like a chapter from the inferno — an 
epic of loathsome tragedy. I have seen the children, 
Berenice, and God help the next generation.” 

“You must not forget, Lawrence,” she said, “that 
character is an essential factor in poverty. Poverty 
there must always be, because of the idle and shiftless.” 

“Individual poverty, yes,” he answered. “Not 
wholesale poverty, not streets of it, towns of it. I 
don’t talk about starving people, although I saw them 
too. Our vicious charitable system may keep their 
cry from our ears, but my sympathies go out to the 
man who ought to be earning two pounds a week, and 
who is earning fifteen shillings; the man who used to 
have his bit of garden, and smoke, and Sunday clothes, 
and a day or so’s holiday now and then. He was a 
contented, decent, God-fearing citizen, the backbone 
of the whole nation, and he has been blotted away 
from the face of the earth. They work now passively, 
like dumb brutes, to resist starvation, and human 


FALTERING OF MANNERING 


161 


character isn’t strong enough for such a strain. The 
public houses thrive, and the pawnshops are full. But 
the children haven’t enough to eat. They are growing 
up lank, white, prematurely aged, the spectres to dance 
us statesmen down into hell.” 

“You are overwrought, dear,” she said, gently. 
“You have been in the hands of a man whose 
object it was to show you only one side of all this.” 

“I have sought for the truth,” Mannering answered, 
“and I have seen it. I have learned more in three 
weeks than all the Commissions and statistics and 
Board-of-Trade figures have taught me in five years.” 

“And yet,” she said, thoughtfully, “you hesitated 
about that last Navy vote. Don’t you see that the 
imperialism which you are a little disposed to shrug 
your shoulders at is the most logical and complete cure 
for all this? We must extend and maintain our colo- 
nies, and people them with our surplus population.” 

He shook his head. 

“That is not a policy which would ever appeal to 
me,” he answered. “It is like an external operation 
to remove a malady which is of internal origin. Either 
our social laws or our political systems are at fault 
when our trade leaves us, and our labouring classes 
are unable to earn a fair wage. That is the position 
we are in to-day.” 

She rose to her feet, and walked restlessly up and 
down the room. Mannering had the look of a crushed 
man. She watched him critically. Writers in maga- 
zines and reviews had often made a study of his 
character. She remembered a brilliant contributor to 
a recent review, who had dwelt upon a certain lack of 
cohesion in his constitution, an inability to relegate 


162 


A LOST LEADER 


sentiment to its proper place in dealing with the great 
workaday problems of the world. Conscientious, but 
never to be trusted, was the last anomalous but lumi- 
nous criticism. Was this frame of mind of his a sign 
of it, she wondered? His place in politics was fixed 
and sure. What right had he, as a man of principle, 
with a great following, to run even the risk of being 
led away by false prophets? A certain hardness stole 
into her face as she watched him. She tried to steel 
herself against the sight of his suffering, and though 
she was not wholly successful, there was a distinct 
change in her tone and attitude towards him as she 
resumed her seat. 

i “Tell me,” she asked, “what this means from a prac- 
tical point of view? How will it effect your plans? ” 

“I must give up my public meetings,” he answered, 
slowly. “I have written to Manningham to tell him 
! that he must get some one else to lead the campaign.” 

Berenice was very pale. So many of these wonder- 
ful dreams of hers seemed vanishing into thin air. 

“This is a terrible blow,” she said. “It is the worst 
thing which has happened to us for years. Are you 
going over to the other side, Law r rence?” 

He shook his head. 

“I can’t do that altogether,” he said. “The posi- 
tion is simply this: I am still, so far as my judgment 
and research go, opposed to tariff reform. On the 
other hand, I dare not take any leading part in fighting 
any scheme which has the barest chance of bringing 
better times to the working classes. I simply stand 
apart for the moment on this question.” 

She laughed a little bitterly. 

“There is no other question,” she said. “You will 


FALTERING OF MANNERING 


163 


never be allowed to remain neutral. You appear to 
me to be in a very singular position. You are divided 
between sentiment and conviction, and you prefer to 
yield to the former. Lawrence, do not be hasty! 
Think of all that depends upon your judgment in this 
matter. From the very first you have been the bit- 
terest and most formidable opponent of this absurd 
scheme. If you turn round you will unsettle public 
opinion throughout the country. Remember, the power 
of the statesman is almost a sacred charge.” 

“I am remembering,” he murmured, “those children. 
I am bound to think this matter out, Berenice. I am 
going to meet Graham and Mellors next week. I shall 
not rest until I have made some effort to put my hand 
upon the weak spot. Somewhere there is a rotten 
place. I want to reach it.” 

“Do you mean to give up your seat?” she asked. 

“Not unless I am asked to,” he answered. “I may 
need to work from there.” 

She sighed. 

“I suppose your mind is quite made up,” she said. 

“Absolutely,” he answered. 

Her maid came in just then, and Mannering offered 
to withdraw. She made no effort to detain him, and 
he went at once in search of his host and hostess. He 
found every one assembled in the hall below. Lord 
Redford, Borrowdean, and the chief whip of his party 
were talking together in a corner, and from their 
significant look at his approach, he felt sure that he 
himself had been the subject of their conversation. 
The situation was more than a little awkward. Lord 
Redford stepped forward and welcomed him cordially. 

“I’m afraid you’ve been knocking yourself up, 


164 


A LOST LEADER 


Mannering,” he said. “Eve just been proposing to 
Culthorpe here that we bar politics completely for 
twenty-four hours. We’ll leave the dinner table with 
the ladies, and you and I will play golf to-morrow. 
I’ve had Taylor down here, and I can assure you 
that my links are worth playing over now. Then on 
Thursday we’ll have a conference.” 

“I was scarcely sure,” Mannering said, with a 
alight smile, “ whether I should be expected to stay 
until then. Sir Leslie has told you of my telegrams?’’ 

“Yes, yes,” Lord Redford said, quickly. “We’ve 
postponed the meetings for the present. We’ll talk 
that all out later on. You’ve had some tea, I hope? 
No? Well, Eleanor, you are a nice hostess,” he added, 
turning to his wife. “Give Mr. Mannering some tea 
at once, and feed him up with hot cakes. Come into 
the billiard-room afterwards, Mannering, will you? 
I’ve got a new table in the winter-garden, and we’re 
going to have a pool before dinner.” 

Berenice came in and laid her hand upon her host’s 
arm. 

“You need not worry about Mr. Mannering,” she 
declared. “He is going to have tea with me at that 
little table, and I am going to take him for a walk in 
the park afterwards.” 

“So long as you feed him well,” Lord Redford de- 
clared, with a little laugh, “and turn up in good time 
for dinner, you may do what you like. If you take 
my advice, Berenice, you will join our league. We 
have pledged ourselves not to utter a word of shop 
for twenty-four hours.” 

“I submit willingly,” Berenice answered. “Mr. Man- 
nering and I will find something else to talk about.” 


CHAPTER X 


THE END OF A DREAM 


OU can guess why I brought you here, per- 



A haps,” Berenice said, gently, as she motioned 
him to sit down by her side. “This place, more than 
any other I know, certainly more than any other at 
Bayleigh, seems to me to be completely restful. There 
are the trees, you see, and the water, and the swans, 
that are certainly the laziest creatures I know. You 
look to me as though you needed rest, Lawrence.” 

“I suppose I do,” he answered, slowly. “I am not 
sure, though, whether I deserve it.” 

“You are rather a self-distrustful mortal,” she re- 
marked, leaning back in her corner and looking at 
him from under her parasol. “You have worked 
nard all the session, and now you have finished up 
by three weeks of, I should think, herculean labour. 
If you do not deserve rest who does?” 

“The rest which I deserve, ’ Mannering answered, 
bitterly, “is the rest of those whose bones are bleach- 
ing amongst the caves and corals of the sea there! 
That is Matapan Point, isn’t it, where the hidden 
rocks are?” 

She nodded. 

* Really, you are developing into a very gloomy 
person,” she said. “Lawrence, don’t let us fence with 
one another any longer. What ^ou may decide to 
do politically may be ruinous to your career, to your 


166 


A LOST LEADER 


chance of usefulness in the world, and to my hopes. 
But I want you to understand this. It can make no 
difference to me. I have had dreams perhaps of a 
great future, of being the wife of a Prime Minister 
who would lead his country into a new era of pros- 
perity, who would put the last rivets into the bonds 
of a great imperial empire. But one never realizes 
all one’s hopes, Lawrence. I love politics. I love 
being behind the scenes, and helping to move the 
pawns across the board. But I am a woman, too, 
Lawrence, and I love you. Put everything connected 
with your public life on one side. Let me ask you 
this. You are changed. Has anything come between 
us as man and woman?” 

“Yes,” he answered, “something has come between 
us.” 

She sat quite still for several minutes. She prayed 
that he too might keep silence, and he seemed to know 
her thoughts. Over the little sheet of ornamental 
water, down the glade of beech and elm trees narrow- 
ing towards the cliffs, her eyes travelled seawards. It 
was to her a terrible moment. Mannering had repre- 
sented so much to her, and her standard was a high 
one. If there was a man living whom she would have 
reckoned above the weaknesses of the herd, it was he. 
In those days at Blakely she had almost idealized 
him. The simple purity of his life there, his delicate 
and carefully chosen pleasures, combined with his al- 
most passionate love of the open places of the earth, 
had led her to regard him as something different 
from any other man whom she had ever known. All 
Borrowdean’s hints and open statements had gone 
for very little. She had listened and retained her trust. 


THE END OF A DREAM 


167 


And now she had a horrible fear. Something had 
gone out of the man, something which went for 
strength, something without which he seemed to lack 
that splendid militant vitality which had always seemed 
to her so admirable. Perhaps he was going to make a 
confession, one of those crude, clumsy confessions of 
a stained life, which have drawn the colour and the joy 
from so many beautiful dreams. She shivered a little, 
but she inclined her head to listen. 

“Well,” she said, “what is it?” 

“I have asked another woman to marry me only a 
few hours ago,” he said, quietly. 

Berenice was a proud woman, and for the moment 
she felt her love for this man a dried-up and shrivelled 
thing. She was white to the lips, but she commanded 
her voice, and her eyes met his coldly. 

“May I inquire into the circumstances — of this — 
somewhat remarkable proceeding?” she inquired. 

“There is a woman,” he said, “whose life I helped 
to wreck — not in the orthodox way,” he added, with 
a note of scorn in his tone, “but none the less effectu- 
ally. The one recompense I never thought of offering 
her was marriage I have seen that, despite all my 
efforts to aid her, her life has been a failure. Her 
friends have been the wrong sort of friends, her life 
the wrong sort of life. What it was that was dragging 
her downwards I never guessed, for she, too, in her 
way, was a proud woman. To-day she sent for me. 
What passed between us is her secret as much as mine. 
I can only tell you that before I left I had asked her 
to marry me.” 

“I think,” she said, calmly, “that you need tell 
me no more.” 


168 


A LOST LEADER 


“ There is very little more that I can tell you,” he 
answered. “I have no affection for her, and she has 
refused to marry me. But she remains — between us 
— irrevocably!” 

“You are lucidity itself,” she replied. “Will you 
forgive me if I leave you? I am scarcely used to this 
sort of situation, and I should like to be alone.” 

“Go by all means, Berenice,” he answered. “You 
and I are better apart. But there is one thing which 
I must say to you, and you must hear. What has 
passed between you and me is the epitome of the love- 
making of my life. You are the only woman whom 
I have desired to make my wife. You are the only 
woman whom I have loved, and shall love until I die. 
I can make you no reparation, none is possible! Yet 
these things are my justification.” 

Berenice had turned away. The passionate ring of 
truth in his tone arrested her footsteps. She paused. 
Her heart was beating very fast, her coldness was all 
assumed. It was so much happiness to throw away, 
if indeed there was a chance. She turned and faced 
him, nervous, gaunt, hollow-eyed, the wreck of his 
former self. Pity triumphed in spite of herself. What 
was this leaven of weakness in the man, she wondered, 
which had so suddenly broken him down? He had 
only to hold on his way and he would be Prime Minister 
in a year. And at the moment of trial he had crumpled 
up like a piece of false metal. A wave of false senti- 
ment, a maniacal hyper-conscientiousness, had been 
sufficient to sap the very strength from his bones. 
And then — there was this other woman. Was she to 
let him go without an effort? He might recover his 
sanity. It was perhaps a mere nervous breakdown, 


THE END OF A DREAM 


169 


which had made him the prey of strange fancies. She 
spoke to him differently. She spoke once more as the 
woman who loved him. 

“Lawrence,” she said, “you are telling me too much, 
and not enough. If you want to send me away I must 
go. But tell me this first. What claim has this woman 
upon you?” 

“It is not my secret,” he groaned. “I cannot tell 
you.” 

“Leslie Borrowdean knows it,” she said. “I could 
have heard it, but I refused to listen. Remember, 
whatever you may owe to other people you owe me 
something, too.” 

“It is true,” he answered. “Well, listen. I killed 
her husband!” 

“You! You — killed her husband!” she repeated 
vaguely. 

“Yes! She shielded me. There was an inquest, 
and they found that he had heart disease. No one 
knew that I had even seen him that day, no one save 
she and a servant, who is dead. But the truth lives. 
He had reason to be angry with me — over a money 
affair. He came home furious, and found me alone 
with his wife. He called me — well, it was a lie — and 
he struck me. I threw him on one side — and he fell. 
When we picked him up he was dead.” 

“It was terrible!” she said, “but you should have 
braved it out. They could have done very little to 
you.” 

“I know it,” he answered. “But I was young, and 
my career was just beginning. The thing stunned me. 
She insisted upon secrecy. It would reflect upon her, 
she thought, if the truth came out, so I acquiesced. 


170 


A LOST LEADER 


I left the house unseen. All these days I have had 
to carry the burden of this thing with me. To-day — 
seemed to be the climax. For the first time I under- 
stood.” 

“She can never marry you,” Berenice said. “It 
would be horrible.” 

“She refused to marry me to-day,” he answered, 
“but she laid her life bare, and I cannot marry any 
one else.” 

Berenice was trembling. She was no longer ashamed 
to show her agitation. 

“I am very sorry for you, Lawrence,” she said. “I 
am very sorry for myself. Good-bye!” 

She left him, and Mannering sank back upon the 
seat. 


CHAPTER XI 


BORROWDEAN SHOWS HIS “HAND” 

0 be plain with you,” Borrowdean remarked, 



A “Mannering’s defection would be irremediable. 
He alone unites Redford, myself, and — well, to put it 
crudely, let us say the Imperialistic Liberal Party with 
Manningham and the old-fashioned Whigs who prefer 
the ruts. There is no other leader possible. Redford 
and I talked till daylight this morning. Now, can 
nothing be done with Mannering?” 

“To be plain with you, too, then, Sir Leslie,” 
Berenice answered, “I do not think that anything 
can be done with him. In his present frame of mind 
I should say that he is better left alone. He has 
worked himself up into a thoroughly sentimental and 
nervous state. For the moment he has lost his sense 
of balance.” 

Borrowdean nodded. 

“Desperate necessity,” he said, “sometimes justifies 
desperate measures. We need Mannering, the country 
and our cause need him. If argument will not prevail 
there is one last alternative left to us. It may not be 
such an alternative as we should choose, but beggars 
must not be choosers. I think that you will know 
what I mean.” 

“I have no idea,” Berenice answered. 

“You are aware,” he continued, “that there is in 


172 


A LOST LEADER 


Mannering’s past history an episode, the publication 
of which would entail somewhat serious consequences 
to him/’ 

“Well?” 

It was a most eloquent monosyllable, but Borrow- 
dean had gone too far to retreat. 

“I propose that we make use of it,” he said. 
“ Mannering’s attitude is rankly foolish, or I would 
not suggest such a thing. But I hold that we are 
entitled, under the circumstances, to make use of any 
means whatever to bring him to his senses.” 

Berenice smiled. They were standing together upon 
a small hillock in the park, watching the golf. 

“ Charlatanism in politics does not appeal to me,” 
she said, drily. “Any party that adopted such means 
would completely alienate my sympathies. No, my 
dear Sir Leslie, don’t stoop to such low-down means. 
Mannering is honest, but infatuated. Win him back 
by fair means, if you can, but don’t attempt any- 
thing of the sort you are suggesting. I, too, know his 
history, from his own lips. Any one who tried to use 
it against him, would forfeit my friendship!” 

“Success then would be bought too dearly.” Borrow- 
dean answered, with a gallantry which it cost him a 
good deal to assume. “May I pass on, Duchess, in 
connexion with this matter, to ask you a somewhat 
more personal question?” 

“I think,” Berenice said, calmly, “ that I can spare 
you the necessity. You were going to speak, I believe, 
of the engagement between Lawrence Mannering and 
myself.” 

“I was,” Borrowdean admitted. 

“It does not exist any longer,” Berenice said. “I 


BORROWDEAN SHOWS HIS “HAND” 173 


should be glad if you would inform any one who has 
heard the rumour that it is without any foundation.” 

Borrowdean looked thoughtfully at the woman by 
his side. 

“I am very glad to hear it,” he declared. “I am 
glad for many reasons, and I am glad personally.” 

She raised her eyebrows. 

“Indeed! I cannot imagine how it should affect you 
personally.” 

“I perhaps said more than I meant to,” he replied, 
calmly. “I am a poor, struggling politician myself, 
whose capital consists of brains and a capacity for 
work, and whose hopes are coloured with perhaps too 
daring ambitions. Amongst them ” 

“Mr. Mannering has holed out from off the green,” 
she interrupted. “Positively immoral, I call it.” 

“Amongst them,” Borrowdean continued, calmly, 
“is one which some day or other I must tell you, for 
indeed you are concerned in it.” 

“I can assure you, Sir Leslie,” she said, looking at 
him steadily, “that I am not at all a sympathetic 
person. My strong advice to you would be — not to 
tell me. I do not think that you would gain anything 
by it.” 

Borrowdean met his fate with a bow and a shrug of 
the shoulders. 

“It only remains,” he said, “for me to beg you to 
pardon what might seem like presumption. Shall we 
meet them on the last green?” 

Mannering would have avoided Berenice, but she 
gave him no option. She laid her hand upon his arm, 
and volunteered to show him a new way home. 

“You must be on your guard, Lawrence,” she said. 


174 


A LOST LEADER 


“Lord Redford is very fond of concealing his plans 
to the last moment, but he is a very clever man. And 
Sir Leslie Borrowdean would give his little finger to 
catch you tripping. All this avoidance of politics is 
part of a scheme. They will spring something upon 
you quite suddenly. Don’t give any hasty pledges.” 

“Thank you for your warning,” he said. “I will be 
careful.” 

“Tell me,” she said, “as a friend, what are your 
plans? Forget that I am interested in politics alto- 
gether. I simply want to know how you are spending 
your time for the next few months.” 

“It depends upon them,” he answered, looking 
downwards into the valley, where Lord Redford and 
Borrowdean were walking side by side. “If they ask 
me to resign my seat I shall go North again, and it is 
just possible that I might come back into the House 
as a labour member. On the other hand, if they are 
content with such support as I can give them, and to 
have me on the fence at present so far as the tariff 
question is concerned, why, I shall go back and do 
the best I can for them.” 

“You are not quite won over to the other side yet, 
then,” she remarked, smiling. 

“Not yet,” he answered. “If ever there was an 
honest doubter, I am one. If I had never left my 
study, England could not have contained a more rabid 
opponent of any change in our fiscal policy than I. 
I am like a small boy who is absolutely sure that he 
has worked out his sum correctly, but finds the answer 
is not the one which his examiner expects. There is 
something wrong somewhere. I want, if I can, to 
discover it. I only want the truth! I don’t see why 


BORROWDEAN SHOWS HIS “HAND” 175 

it should be so hard to find, why figures and common 
sense should clash entirely and horribly with existing 
facts.” 

“You wore dun-coloured spectacles when you took 
your walks abroad,” she said, smiling. “No one else 
seems to have discovered so distressing a state of 
affairs as you have spoken of.” 

“Because they never looked beneath the surface,” 
he answered. “I myself might have failed to under- 
stand if I had not been shown. Remember that our 
workingman of the better class does not go marching 
through the streets with an unemployed banner and a 
tin cup when he is in want. He takes his half wages 
and closes the door upon his sufferings. God help him ! ” 

“Adieu, politics,” she declared, with a shrug of the 
shoulders. “Isn’t that Clara playing croquet with 
Major Bristow? I wish I didn’t dislike that man so 
much. I hate to see the child with him.” 

Mannering sighed. 

“Poor Clara!” he said. “I am afraid I have left 
her a good deal to herself lately.” 

“I am afraid you have,” she agreed, a little gravely. 
“May I give you a word of advice?” 

“You know that I should be grateful for it,” he 
declared. 

“Be sure that she never goes to the Bristows again, 
and ask her whether she has any other card debts. It 
may be my fancy, but I don’t like the way that man 
hangs about her, and looks at her. I am sure that 
she does not like him, and yet she never seems to have 
the courage to snub him.” 

“I am very much obliged to you,” he said. “I 
will speak to her to-day.” 


176 


A LOST LEADER 


“I don’t know where I am going, or what I shall do 
for the autumn,” she continued, with a little sigh, 
“but if you like to trust Clara with me I will look 
after her. I think that she needs a woman. Yes, I 
thought so. Redford and Sir Leslie are waiting for 
you. Go and have it out with them, my friend.” 

“You are too kind to me,” he said; “kinder than I 
deserve!” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered. “I am afraid 
that my kindness is only another form of selfishness. 
I am rather a lonely person, you know. Lord Redford 
is beckoning to you. I am going to break up that 
croquet party.” 

Mannering joined the other two men. Berenice 
strolled on to the lawn. Major Bristow eyed her 
coming with some disfavour. He was one of the 
men whom she always ignored. Clara, on the other 
hand, seemed proportionately relieved. 

“I want you to come to my room as soon as you 
possibly can, child,” Berenice said. “Shall I wait 
while you finish your game?” 

“Oh, I will come at once,” Clara exclaimed, laying 
down her mallet. “Major Bristow will not mind, I 
am sure.” 

Major Bristow looked as though he did mind very 
much, but lacked the nerve to say so. Berenice calmly 
took Clara by the arm and led her away. 

“You are not engaged to Major Bristow by any 
chance, are you?” she asked, calmly. 

“Engaged to Major Bristow? Heavens, no!” Clara 
answered. “I don’t think he is in the least a marry- 
ing man.” 

“So much the better for our sex,” Berenice answered. 


BORROWDEAN SHOWS HIS “HAND” 177 


“I wouldn’t spend so much time with him, my 
dear, if I were you. I have known people with nicer 
reputations.” 

Clara turned a shade paler. 

“I can never get away from him,”- she said. “He 
follows me — everywhere, and ” 

“You do not by any chance, I suppose, owe him 
money?” Berenice asked. “They tell me that he has 
a somewhat objectionable habit of winning money 
from girls, more than they can afford to pay, and 
then suggesting that it stand over for a time.” 

Clara turned towards her with terrified eyes. 

“I — I do owe Major Bristow a little still,” she ad- 
mitted. “I seem to have been so unlucky. He told 
me that any time would do, that I should win it back 
again, and I had no idea what stakes we were playing. 
I don’t touch a card now at all, but this was at Effing- 
ham House. They insisted on my making a fourth at 
bridge.” 

Berenice tightened her grasp upon the girl’s arm. 

“Don’t say anything about this to your uncle just 
now,” she insisted. “I am going to take you up to 
my room and write you a cheque for the amount, 
whatever it may be. Afterwards I will have a talk 
with Major Bristow. Nonsense, child, don’t cry! The 
money is nothing to me, and I always promised your 
uncle that I would look after you a little.” 

“I have been such a fool!” the girl sobbed. 

Berenice for a mdment was also sad. Her lips 
quivered, her eyes were wistful. 

“We all think that sometimes, child,” she said, 
quietly. “We all have our foolish moments and our 
hours of repentance, even the wisest of us!” 


CHAPTER XII 


SIR LESLIE BORROWDEAN INCURS A HEAVY DEBT 

“ Y SUPPOSE/’ Lord Redford remarked, thoughtfully 

A “ politics represents a different thing to all of 
us, according to our temperament. To me, I must 
confess, it is a plain, practical business, the business 
of law-making. To you, Mannering, I fancy that it 
appeals a little differently. Now, let us understand 
one another. Are you prepared to undertake this 
campaign which we planned out a few months ago?” 

“If I did undertake it,” Mannering said, “it would 
be to leave unsaid the things which you would nat- 
urally expect from me, and to say things of which 
you could not possibly approve. I am very sorry. 
You can command my resignation at any moment, 
if you will. But my views, though in the main they 
have not changed, are very much modified.” 

Lord Redford nodded. 

“That,” he said, “is our misfortune, but it certainly 
is not your fault. As for your resignation, if you 
crossed the floor of the House to-morrow we should 
not require it of you. You are responsible to your 
constituents only. We dragged you back into public 
life — you see I admit it freely — and we are willing 
to take our risk. Whether you are with us or against 
us, we recognize you as one of those whose place is 
amongst the rulers of the people.” 


INCURS A HEAVY DEBT 179 

“You are very generous, Lord Redford,” Mannering 
answered. 

“Not at all. It is no use being peevish. You are 
a great disappointment to us, but we have not given 
up hope. If you are not altogether with us to-day, 
there is to-morrow. I tell you frankly, Mannering, 
that I look upon you as a man temporarily led astray 
by a wave of sentimentality. So long as the world 
lasts there will be rich men and poor, but you must 
always remember in considering this that it is character 
as well as circumstances which is at the root of the 
acquisition of wealth. Generations have gone to the 
formation of our social fabric. It is the slow evolu- 
tion of the human laws of necessity. The socialist 
and the sentimentalist and the philanthropist, dropping 
gold through his fingers, have each had their fling at 
it, but their cry is like the cry from the wilderness — a 
long, lone thing! And then to come to the real point, 
Mannering. Grant for a moment all that you have 
told Borrowdean and myself about the condition of 
the labour classes in the great towns and the universal 
depression of trade. How can you possibly imagine 
that the imposition of tariff duties is the sovereign, 
or even a possible, remedy? Why, you yourself have 
been one of the most brilliant pamphleteers against 
anything of the sort. You have been called the Cob- 
den of the day. You cannot throw principles away 
like an old garment.” 

“Let us leave for one moment,” Mannering an- 
swered, “the personal side of the matter. I have seen 
in the majority of our large cities terrible and con- 
vincing proof of the decline of our manufacturing 
industries. I have seen the outcome of this in hun- 


180 


A LOST LEADER 


dreds of ruined homes, in a whole generation coming 
into the world half starved, half clothed — God help 
those children. I have always maintained that the 
labouring classes should be the happiest race of people 
in this country. I find them without leisure or recre- 
ation, fighting fate with both hands for food. Redford, 
the whole world has never shown us a greater tragedy 
than the one which we others deliberately and per- 
sistently close our eyes to — I mean the struggle for life 
which is being waged in every one of our great cities.” 

“We have statistics,” Borrowdean began. 

“Damn statistics! ” Mannering interrupted. “I have 
juggled with figures myself in the old days, and I 
know how easy it is. So do you, and so does Redford. 
This is what I want to put to you. The tragedy is 
there. Perhaps those who have faced it and come 
back again to tell of their experiences have been a 
little hysterical — the horror of it has carried them 
away. They may not have adopted the most effectual 
means of making the world understand, but it is there. 
I have seen it. A thousandth part of this misery in 
a country with which we had nothing to do, and no 
business to interfere, and we should be having mass 
meetings at Exeter Hall, and making general asses of 
ourselves all over the country, shrieking for interven- 
tion, wasting a whole dictionary of rhetoric, and 
probably getting well snubbed for our pains. And 
because the murders are by slow poison instead of 
with steel, because they are in our own cities and 
amongst our own people, we accept them with a sort 
of placid satisfaction. You, Lord Redford, speak of 
character and enunciate social laws, and Borrowdean 
will argue that after all the trade of the countrv is 


INCURS A HEAVY DEBT 


181 


not so bad as it might be, and will make an epigram 
on the importation of sentimentality into politics. In 
plain words, Lord Redford, we, as a party, are asleep 
to what is going on. One statesman has recognized 
it, and proposed a startling and drastic remedy. We 
attack the remedy tooth and nail, but we place forward 
no counter proposition. It is as though a dying man 
were attended by two doctors, one of whom has pre- 
pared a remedy which the other declines to administer 
without suggesting one of his own. It is not a logical 
position. The medicine may not cure, but let the 
man have his chance of life.” 

“Your simile/’ Lord Redford said, “assumes that 
the man is dying.” 

“I have seen the mark of death upon his face,” 
Mannering answered. “The men who are traitors 
to their country to-day are those who, healthy enough 
themselves, talk causeless and shallow optimism which 
is fed alone by their own prosperity. The doctrine 
of Christ is the care of others. If you do not believe, 
the sick-room is open also to you; go there unpreju- 
diced, and with an open mind, and you will come away 
as I have come away.” 

“Must we take it, then, Mannering,” Lord Redford 
said, gravely, “that you are prepared to support the 
administering of the medicine you spoke of?” 

Mannering was silent for a moment. 

“At least,” he said, “I am not going to be amongst 
those who cry out against it and offer nothing them- 
selves. I am going to analyze that medicine, and if 
I see a chance of life in it I shall say, let us run a 
little risk, rather than stand by inactive, to look upon 
the face of death. In other words, I become for the 


182 A LOST LEADER 

moment a passive figure in politics so far as this question 
is concerned.” 

Lord Redford held out his hand. 

“Let it go at that, Mannering,” he said. “I believe 
that you will come back to us. We shall be always 
glad of your support, but of course you will under- 
stand that the position from to-day is changed. If 
you had carried the standard, as we had hoped, the 
reward also was to have been yours. We must elect 
one of ourselves to take your place. To put it plainly, 
your defection now releases us from all pledges.” 

“I understand,” Mannering answered. “It was 
scarcely ambition which brought me back into poli- 
tics, and I must work for the cause in which I believe. 
If I am forced to take any definite action, I shall, of 
course, resign my seat.” 

The door closed behind him. Borrowdean struck 
a match, and Lord Redford looked thoughtfully out 
of the window across the park. 

“I was always afraid of this,” Borrowdean said, 
gloomily. “There is a leaven of madness in the man.” 

Lord Redford shrugged his shoulders. 

“Genius or madness,” he remarked. “We may yet 
see him a modern Rienzi carried into power on the 
shoulders of the people. Such a man might become 
anything. As a matter of fact, I think that he will 
go back into his study. He has the brain to fashion 
wonderful thoughts, and the lips to fire them into life. 
But I doubt his adaptability. I cannot imagine him 
ever becoming a real and effective force.” 

Borrowdean, who was bitterly disappointed, smoked 
furiously. 

“We shall see,” he said. “If Mannering is not for 


INCURS A HEAVY DEBT 183 

us, I think that I can at least promise that he does 
no harm on the other side.” 

Lord Redford turned away from the window. He 
eyed Borrowdean curiously. 

“It was you,” he remarked, “who brought Man- 
nering back into public life. You had a certain reward 
for it, and you would have had a much greater one 
if things had gone our way. But I want you to remem- 
ber this. Mannering is best left alone — now, for the 
present. You understand me?” 

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders. There was a 
good deal too much sentiment in politics. 

Mannering and Berenice came together for a few 
moments on the terrace after dinner. He was not 
so completely engrossed in his own affairs as to fail to 
notice her lack of colour and a certain weariness of 
manner, which had kept her more silent than usual 
during the whole evening. 

“Well?” she said. 

“There is nothing definite,” he answered. “You 
see, the question of tariff reform is not before the House 
at present, and Redford does not require me to resign 
my seat. But of course it will come to that sooner 
or later.” 

She leaned over the grey balustrade. With her 
it was a moment of weakness. She was suddenly 
conscious of the fact that she was no longer a young 
woman. The time when she might hope to find in 
life the actual flavour and joy of passionate living was 
nearing the end. And a little while ago they had 
seemed so near! The pity of it stirred up a certain 
sense of rebellion in her heart. She was still a beauti- 


184 


A LOST LEADER 


ful woman. She knew very well the arts by which 
men are enslaved. Why should she not try them 
upon him — this man who loved her, who seemed will- 
ing to sacrifice both their lives to a piece of sense- 
less quixoticism? Her fingers touched his, and held 
them softly. Thrilled through all his senses, he turned 
towards her wonderingly. 

“Are we wise, Lawrence,” she whispered, “if indeed 
you love me? Life is so short, and I am not a young 
woman any more. I have been lonely so long. I 
want a little happiness before I go.” 

“Don’t!” he cried, hoarsely. “You know — what 
comes between us.” 

She was a little indignant, but still tender. 

“This woman does not want you, Lawrence,” she 
cried. “I do! Oh, Lawrence!” 

He faltered. She laid her fingers upon his arm. 

“Come down the steps,” she murmured, “and I 
will show you Lady Redford’s rose-garden.” 

Her touch was compelling. He could not have 
resisted it. And about his heart lay the joy of her 
near presence. Side by side they moved along the 
terrace — it seemed to him that they passed towards 
their destiny. The gentle rustling of her clothes, him 
their slight, mysterious perfume, was like music to him. 
A sudden wave of passion carried him away. The 
primitive virility of the man, awake at last, demanded 
its birthright. 

And then upon the lower step they met Bor- 
rowdean, and he placed himself squarely in their 
way. 

“I am sorry to interrupt you,” he said, gravely, 
“but Lord Bedford has sent me out to look for you 


INCURS A HEAVY DEBT 185 

and to send you at once into the library. Some- 
thing rather serious has happened.” 

Mannering came down to earth. 

“The evening papers have come,” Borrowdean said. 
“The Pall Mall has the whole story. You were seen 
at the workingmen’s club in Glasgow!” 

Mannering turned towards the house. His nerves 
were all tingling with excitement, but the thread had 
suddenly been snapped. He was no longer in danger 
of yielding to that flood of delicious sensations. His 
voice had been almost steady as he had begged Bere- 
nice to excuse him. Berenice stood quite still. Her 
hand was pressed to her side, her dark eyes were lit 
with passion. She leaned forward towards Borrowdean, 
and seemed about to strike him. 

“You will find yourself — repaid for this, Sir Leslie,” 
she murmured. 

Then she turned abruptly away. For an hour or 
more she walked alone amongst the trellised walks 
of Lady Redford’s rose-garden. But Mannering did 
not return. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE WOMAN AND — THE OTHER WOMAN 

OU see, Mannering,” Lord Redford said, tapping 



Jt the outspread evening paper with his forefinger, 
“the situation now presents a different aspect. I have 
no wish to force your hand — a few hours ago I think 
I proved this. But if you are to remain even nomi- 
nally with us some sort of pronouncement must come 
from you in reply to these statements.” 

“Yes,” Mannering said, “that is quite reasonable.” 

“The postponement of your campaign has been 
hinted at before,” Lord Redford continued, “but we 
have never used the word abandonment. Now, to 
speak bluntly, the whole fat is in the fire. Your place 
on the fence is no longer possible. You must make 
your own declaration, and it must be for one of three 
things. You must remain with us, abandon public 
life for a time, or go over to the other side. And 
you must make promptly an announcement of your 
intentions.” 

“I have no alternative in the matter,” Mannering 
said. “In fact, I think that this has happened oppor- 
tunely. My presence with you was sure to prove some- 
thing of an embarrassment to all of us. I shall apply 
for the Chiltern Hundreds to-morrow, and I shall 
not seek to re-enter the present Parliament. The few 
months’ respite will be useful to me. I can only 
express to you, Lord Redford, my sincere gratitude 


THE OTHER WOMAN 187 

for all your consideration, and my regret for this dis- 
arrangement of your plans.” 

Lord Redford sighed. Why were men born, he won- 
dered, with such a prodigious capacity for playing the 
fool? 

“My chief regret, Mannering,” he said, “is for you. 
The Fates so controlled circumstances that you seemed 
certain to achieve as a young man what is the crown- 
ing triumph of us veterans in the political world. I 
respect the honest scruples of every man, but it seems 
to me that you are throwing away an unparalleled 
opportunity in a fit of what a practical man like myself 
can only call sentimentality. I have no more to say. 
Forgive me if I have said too much. For the rest, 
give us the pleasure of your company here for as long 
as you find it convenient. We will abjure politics, and 
you shall give me my revenge at golf.” 

Mannering shook his head. 

“I am very much obliged to you,” he said, “but 
there is only one course open to me. I must go back 
and make my plans. If I could have a carriage for 
the nine-forty!” 

Lord Redford made no effort to induce him to 
change his mind, though he remained courteous to 
the last. 

“I was really glad to have him go,” he told Bor- 
rowdean afterwards. “His very presence— the thought 
that there could be such colossal fools in the world- 
irritated me beyond measure. You can write his 
epitaph, Leslie, if your humorous vein is working, for 
the man is politically dead.” 

“One never knows,” Berenice said, quietly. “There 
must be something great about a man capable cf 


188 


A LOST LEADER 


such prodigious self-sacrifice. For at heart Lawrence 
Mannering is an ambitious man.” 

Lord Redford shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Perhaps,” he said, “but I am very sure of this. 
There is nothing so great about the man as his 
Tolly.” 

Berenice smiled. 

“We shall see,” she said. “Personally, I believe 
that Sir Leslie would find his epitaph a little previous. 
I saw a great deal of Lawrence Mannering in the coun- 
try, and I think that I understand him as well as either 
of you. I believe that his day will come.” 

“Well, all I can say is,” Lord Redford pronounced, 
“that I very much wish you had left him down at his 
country home. Between you you have created a very 
serious situation. I must go up to town to-morrow 
and see Manningham. In the meantime, Leslie, I shall 
leave those reports severely alone. We must ignore 
Mannering altogether.” 

Berenice turned away with a smile at her lips. She 
had a very little opinion of Lord Redford and his follow- 
ing. Already she saw the man whose career they 
counted finished, at the head of a new and greater 
party. There were plenty of clever men of the coming 
generation, plenty of room for compromises, for the 
formation of a great national party out of the scattered 
units of a disunited opposition. She believed Mannering 
strong enough to do this. She saw in it greater possi- 
bilities than might have been forthcoming even if he 
had been chosen to lead the somewhat ragged party 
represented by Lord Redford and his followers. For 
the rest, she had been very near the success she so 
desired. Only an accident had robbed her of victory. 


THE OTHER WOMAN 189 

If once they had reached the rose-garden she knew 
that she would have triumphed. 

As her maid took off her jewellery that night she 
smiled at herself in the glass. She was thinking of 
that moment on the terrace. The glow had not wholly 
faded from her face — she saw herself with her long, 
slender neck and smooth, unwrinkled complexion, still 
beautiful, still a woman to be loved. Her maid ven- 
tured to whisper a word of respectful compliment. 
Truly Madame La Duchesse was growing younger! 

What strange whim, or evil fate, had turned his feet 
in that direction? Mannering often tried to trace back- 
wards the workings of his mind that night, but he 
never wholly succeeded. He reached London about 
eleven, and sent his man home with his luggage, in- 
tending merely to call in at the club for letters. But 
afterwards he remembered only that he had strolled 
aimlessly along homewards, thinking deeply, and not 
particularly careful as to his direction. Even then he 
would have passed the house in Sloane Gardens with- 
out looking up, but for the civil “ Good-night, sir,” of 
a coachman sitting on the box of a small brougham 
drawn up against the kerb. He raised his head to 
return the salute, and realized at once where he was. 
Almost at the same moment the front door opened, 
and behind a glow of light in the hall he saw a familiar 
figure in the act of passing out to her carriage. The 
street was well lit, and he was almost opposite a lamp- 
post. She recognized him at once. 

“ Lawrence,” she exclaimed, incredulously. “You — 
were you coming in?” 

She was wrapped from head to foot in a long 


190 


A LOST LEADER 


white opera cloak, but the jewels in her hair and at 
her throat glistened in the flashing light. She moved 
slowly forward to his side. Her maid, who had been 
coming out to open the carriage door, lingered behind. 

“I — upon my word, I scarcely know how I came 
here,” he answered, a little bewildered. “I was walk- 
ing home — it is scarcely out of my way — and thinking. 
You are going out?” 

She nodded. Looking at her now more closely he 
saw the shadows under her eyes, only imperfectly con- 
cealed. The little gesture with which she answered 
him savoured of weariness. 

“Yes, I was going out. I have sat alone with my 
thoughts all day, and I don't want to end my life in 
a lunatic asylum. I want a little change, that is all. 
If you will come in and talk to me instead, that will 
do as well. Any sort of distraction, you see,” she 
added, with a hard little laugh, “just to keep me 
from ” 

She did not finish her sentence. He looked at her 
gravely, and from her to the waiting carriage. He 
suddenly realized how the altered condition of affairs 
must affect her. 

“I shall have to come and see you in a day or two,” 
he said. “But now ” he hesitated. 

“Why not now, then?” she asked. 

“You have an engagement,” he said. 

She shook her head. 

“I was only going somewhere to supper. I was 
going to call for Eva Fanesborough, and I suppose we 
should have had some bridge afterwards. Come in 
instead, Lawrence. I can telephone to her.” 

Already a presage of evil seemed to be forming 


THE OTHER WOMAN 191 

itself in his mind. He would have given anything 
to have thought of some valid excuse. 

“Your carriage ” 

“Pooh!” she answered. “John, I shall not want 
you to-night,” she said to the coachman. “Come!” 

She led the way, and Mannering followed. As the 
maid closed the door behind them Mannering felt his 
breath quicken — his sense of depression grew stronger. 
He seemed threatened by some new and intangible 
danger. He stood on the hearthrug while she bent 
over the switch and turned on the electric light in the 
sitting-room. Then she threw off her cloak and looked 
at him curiously for a moment. Her face softened. 

“My dear Lawrence,” she said, “has politics done 
this, or are you ill?” 

“I am quite well,” he answered. “A little tired, 
perhaps. I have had rather a trying day.” 

She rang the bell, and ordered sandwiches and wine. 

“You look like a corpse,” she said, and stood over 
him while he ate and drank. And all the time that 
indefinable fear within him grew. She made him 
smoke. Then she leaned back in an easy-chair and 
looked across at him. 

“You had something to say to me. What was it?” 

“Nothing good,” he answered. “I have quarrelled 
with my party, and I have to resign my seat in the 
House.” 

“Already?” 

“Already! I am sorry, as of course in a few months' 
time I should have been in office, and drawing a con- 
siderable salary. As it is ” he hesitated. 

“Oh, I understand!” she said. “Well, it doesn't 
matter much. I only have the house for six months 


192 


A LOST LEADER 


furnished, and that’s paid for in advance. John must 
go, and the horses can be sold.” 

He looked at her in amazement. Only a few months 
ago she had talked very differently. 

“I — I am not sure whether all that will be neces- 
sary,” he said. “I can find a tenant for Blakely, and 
I daresay I can manage another hundred a year or so. 
Only, of course, the large increase we had thought 
of will not be possible now.” 

“No, I suppose not,” she answered, idly. 

He moved in his chair uncomfortably. He found 
her wholly incomprehensible. 

“What a beast I must have seemed to you always,” 
she exclaimed, suddenly. 

“Why?” he asked, pointlessly. 

“I’ve sponged on you all my life, and you’re not a 
rich man, are you, Lawrence? Then I dragged you 
into politics to supply me with the means to spend 
more money. My claim on you was one of sentiment 
only, but — I’ve made you pay. No wonder you hate 
me!” 

“Your claim on me, even to every penny I pos- 
sess,” Mannering answered, “was a perfectly just one. 
I have never denied it, and I have done my best. 
And as to hating you, you know quite well it is not 
true!” 

“Ah!” She rose suddenly to her feet, and before 
he had realized her intention she was on her knees by 
his side. She caught at his hand and kept her face 
hidden from him. 

“Lawrence,” she cried, “I was mad the other day. 
It was all the pent-up bitterness of years which seemed 
to escape me so suddenly. I said so much that I did 


THE OTHER WOMAN 193 

not mean to — I was mad, dear. Oh, Lawrence, I am 
so lonely !” 

Then the fear in his heart became a live thing. He 
was dumb. He could not have spoken had he tried. 

“It was your coldness all these years,” she mur- 
mured. “You were different once. You know that. 
At first, when the horror of what happened was young, 
I thought I understood. I thought, as it wore off, 
that you would be different. The horror has gone now, 
Lawrence. We know that it was an accident, it might 
as well have been another as you. But you have not 
changed. I have given up hoping. I have tried every- 
thing else, and I am a very miserable woman. Now 
I am going to pray to you, Lawrence. You do not 
care for me more. Pretend that you do! You can- 
not give me your love. Give me the best you can. 
Don’t despise me too utterly, Lawrence! Pity me, if 
you will. Heaven knows I need it. And — you will 
be a little kind!” 

Her hands were clasped about his neck. He disen- 
gaged himself gently. 

“Blanche!” he cried, hoarsely, “I love another 
woman!” 

“Are you engaged to her?” 

“No! Not now!” 

“Then what does it matter? What does it matter, 
anyhow? It is not the real thing I am asking you for, 
Lawrence — only the make-belief! Keep the rest for 
her, if you must, but give me lies, false looks, hollow 
caresses, anything! You see what depths I have 
fallen to.” 

He held her hands tightly. A great pity for her 
filled his heart — pity for her, and for himself. 


194 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Blanche,” he said, “there is one way only. It is 
for you to decide. Will you marry me? I will do my 
best to make you a good husband !” 

“Marry you?” she gasped. “Lawrence, I dare not!” 

“I cannot alter the past,” he said, sadly. “It never 
seemed to me possible that you could care for my — 
after what happened. But ” 

“Oh, it is not that,” she interrupted. “There is — 
the other woman, and, Lawrence, I should be afraid. 
I am not good enough!” 

“Whatever you are, Blanche,” he said, gravely, 
“remember that it is I who am responsible for your 
having been left alone to face the world. Your follies 
belong to me. I am quite free to share their burden 
with you.” 

“But the other woman?” she faltered. 

“I must love her always,” he said, quietly, “but 
I cannot marry her.” 

“And you would kiss me sometimes, Lawrence?” 
she whispered. 

He took her quietly into his arms and kissed her 
forehead. 

“I will do my best, Blanche,” he said. “I dare 
not promise any more.” 


BOOK III 


CHAPTER I 

MATRIMONY AND AN AWKWARD MEETING 

“T TOW delightfully Continental!’’ Blanche exclaimed, 

-Ia as the head-waiter showed them to their table. 
“Hester, did you ever see anything more quaint?” 

“It is perfect,” the girl answered, leaning back in 
her chair, and looking around with quiet content. 

Mannering took up the menu and ordered dinner. 
Then he lit a cigarette and looked around. 

“It certainly is quaint,” he said. “One dines out 
of doors often enough, especially over here, but I have 
never seen a courtyard made such excellent use of 
before. The place is really old, too.” 

They had found their way to a small seaside resort, 
in the north of France, which Mannering had heard 
highly praised by some casual acquaintance. The 
courtyard of the small hotel was set out with round 
dining tables, and the illumination was afforded by 
Japanese lanterns hung from every available spot. 
A small band played from a wooden balcony. Mon- 
sieur, the proprietor, walked anxiously from table to 
table, all smiles and bows. Through the roofed way, 
which led from the street, one caught a distant glimpse 
of the sea. 

Mannering, to the surprise of his friends, and to his 
own secret amazement, had survived the crisis which 


196 


A LOST LEADER 


had seemed at one time likely enough to wreck his 
life. Politically he was no longer a great power, for 
the party whose cause he had half espoused had met 
with a distinct reverse, and he himself was without 
a seat in Parliament, but amongst the masses his was 
still a name to conjure with.' Socially his marriage 
with Blanche Phillimore had scarcely proved the dis- 
aster which every one had anticipated. Her old ways 
and manner of life lay in the background. She had 
aged a little, perhaps, and grown thinner, but she had 
shown from the first an almost pathetic desire to adapt 
her life to his, to assume an altogether unobtrusive 
position, and if she could not in any way influence his 
destiny, at least she did not hamper it. She had made 
no demands upon him which he was not able to grant. 
She had lived where he had suggested, she had never 
embarrassed him with too vehement an affection. 
As for Mannering himself, he had found solace in work. 
Defeated at the polls, he had declined a safe seat, and 
remained the chosen independent candidate of a great 
Northern constituency. He addressed public meetings 
occasionally, and he contributed to the reviews. With- 
out having ever finally committed himself to a definite 
scheme of tariff reform, he preached everywhere the 
doctrine of consideration. In a modified way he was 
reckoned now as one of its possible supporters. 

They were almost halfway through their dinner 
when some commotion was heard in the narrow street 
outside. Then with much tooting of horns and the 
shrill shouting of directions from the bystanders, 
two heavily laden touring cars turned slowly into the 
cobbled courtyard, and drew up within a few feet 
of the semicircular line of tables, Mannering’s little 


AN AWKWARD MEETING 


197 


party watched the arrivals with an interest shared by 
every one in the place. Muffled up in cloaks and veils, 
they were at first unrecognized. It was Mannering 
himself who first realized who they were. 

“ Clara!” he exclaimed to the young lady who was 
standing almost by his side. “ Welcome to Bonestre!” 

She turned towards him with a little start. 

“ Uncle !” she exclaimed. "How extraordinary! 
Why, how long have you been here?” 

“We arrived this afternoon,” he answered. “You 
remember Hester, don’t you? And this is Mrs. Man- 
nering. ” 

Clara shook hands with both. She declared after- 
wards that she was surprised into it, but she would 
certainly never have recognized in the quiet, rather 
weary-looking, woman who sat at her uncle’s side the 
Blanche Phillimore whom she had more than once 
passionately declared that she would sooner die than 
speak to. She murmured a few mechanical words, 
and then, suddenly realizing the situation, she glanced 
a little anxiously over her shoulder. 

“You know who I am with, uncle?” she whispered. 

But Mannering was already face to face with Berenice. 
She held out her hand without hesitation. If she felt 
any emotion she concealed it perfectly. Her voice 
was steady and cordial, if her cheeks were pale. The 
dust lay thickly upon them all. Mannering, tall and 
grave in his plain dinner clothes and black tie, stood 
almost like a statue before her, until her extended hand 
invited his movement. 

“What an extraordinary meeting,” she said, quietly. 
“I am very glad to see you again, Mr. Mannering. 
We have had such a ride, all the way from Havre 


198 


A LOST LEADER 


along roads an inch thick in dust. This is your wife, is 
it not? I am very glad to know you, Mrs. Mannering.” 

All that might have been embarrassing in the en- 
counter seemed dissolved by the utterly conventional 
tone of her greeting. Sir Leslie Borrowdean came up 
and joined them, and Lord and Lady Redford. Then 
the little party, escorted by the landlord, disappeared 
into the hotel. Mannering resumed his seat and con- 
tinued his dinner. He leaned over and addressed his 
wife. His tone was kinder than usual. 

“When we have had our 001166,” he said, “I hope 
that you will feel like a walk. The moon is coming up 
over the sea.” 

She shook her head. 

“Take Hester,” she said. “She loves that sort of 
thing. I have a headache, and I should like to go up- 
stairs as soon as possible. 

So Hester walked with Mannering out to the rocks 
where pools of water, left by the tide, shone like silver 
in the moonlight. They talked very little at first, but 
as they leaned over the rail and looked out seawards 
Hester broke the silence, and spoke of the things which 
they both had in their minds. 

“I am sorry they came,” she said. “I am afraid it 
will upset mother, and it is not pleasant for you, is it?” 

“For me it is nothing, Hester,” he answered, “and 
I hope that your mother will not worry about it. They 
all behaved very nicely, and we need not see much 
of them.” 

She passed her arm through his. 

“Tell me how you feel about it,” she begged. “It 
must seem to you like a glimpse of the life you left 
when — when you — married ! ’ ’ 


AN AWKWARD MEETING 


199 


“Hester,” he said, earnestly, “don’t make any mis- 
take about this. Don’t let your mother make any 
mistake. It was my political change of views which 
separated me from all my former friends — that en- 
tirely. To them I am an apostate, and a very bad 
sort of one. I deserted them just when they needed 
me. I did it from convictions which are stronger 
to-day than ever. But none the less I threw them 
over. I always said that they very much exaggerated 
my importance as a factor in the situation, and my 
words are proved. They carried the elections without 
any difficulty, and they have formed a strong Govern- 
ment. They can afford to be magnanimous to me. 
If I had stayed with them I should have been in 
office. As it was, I lost even my seat.” 

“You did what you thought was right,” she said, 
softly. “No one can do any more!” 

Mannering thought over her words as they walked 
homewards over the sand-dunes. Yes, he had done 
that! Was he satisfied with the result? He had be- 
come a minor power in politics. Men spoke of him 
as a weakling — as one who had shrunk from the 
burden of great responsibility, and left the friends 
who had trusted him in the lurch. And then — there 
was the other thing. He had paid a great price for 
this woman’s salvation. Had he succeeded? She had 
given up all her old ways. She dressed, she lived, she 
carried herself through life even with a furtive, almost 
a pathetic, attempt to reach his standard. Often he 
caught her watching him as though fearful lest some 
word or action of hers had been displeasing to him. 
And yet — he wondered — was this what she had hoped 
for? Had he given her what she had the right to 


200 


A LOST LEADER 


expect? Had he indeed received value for the price 
he had paid? He asked Hester a sudden question: 

“ Hester, is your mother happy?” 

Hester started a little. 

“If she is not,” she answered, gravely, “she must 
be a very ungrateful woman. ” 

He left it at that, and together they retraced their 
steps to the hotel. Hester slipped up to her room by 
a side entrance, but Mannering was obliged to pass the 
table where the new arrivals were lingering over their 
coffee. Clara and Lord Redford both called to him. 

“Come and have a smoke with us, Mannering, and 
tell us all about this place,” the latter said. “The 
Duchess and your niece are charmed with it, and they 
want to stay for a few days. Are there any golf 
links?” 

“Come and sit next me, uncle,” Clara cried, “and 
tell me how you like being guardian to an heiress. How 
I have blessed that dear departed aunt of mine every 
day of my life.” 

Mannering accepted a cigarette, and sat down. 

“The golf links are excellent,” he said. “As for 
your aunt, Clara, she was a very sensible woman. Her 
money was so well invested that I have practically 
nothing to dp. I expect my duties will commence 
when the young men come!” 

“Miss Mannering,” Sir Leslie said, gravely, “is not 
at all attracted by young men. She prefers some- 
thing more staid. I have serious hopes that before 
our little tour is over I shall have persuaded her to 
marry me!” 

“You dear man!” Clara exclaimed. “I only wish 
you’d give me the chance.” 


AN AWKWARD MEETING 201 

“ There’s a brazen child to have to chaperon/ 7 the 
Duchess said. “Positively asking for a proposal. 77 

“And not in vain/ 7 Sir Leslie declared. “Walk 
down to the sea with me, Miss Clara, and I ’ll propose 
to you in my most approved fashion. I think you 
said that the investments were sound, Mannering? 77 

“The investments are all right/ 7 Mannering an- 
swered, “but I shall have nothing to do with fortune- 
hunters. 77 

“And I a Cabinet Minister! 77 Sir Leslie declared. 
“Miss Clara, let us have that walk. 77 

“To-morrow night/ 7 she promised. “When I get 
up it will be to go to bed. Even your love-making, 
Sir Leslie, could not keep me awake to-night. 77 

The Duchess rose. The dust was gone, but she was 
pale, and looked tired. 

“Let us leave these men to make plans for us/ 7 she 
said. “I hope we shall see something of you to-morrow, 
Mr. Mannering. Good-night, everybody. 77 

Mannering rose and bowed with the others. For 
a moment their eyes met. Not a muscle of her face 
changed, and yet Mannering was conscious of a sudden 
wave of emotion. He understood that she had not 
forgotten! 


CHAPTER II 


THE SNUB FOR BORROWDEAN 

B ERENICE sat at one of the small round tables 
in the courtyard, finishing her morning coffee. 
Sir Leslie sat upon the steps by her side. It was one 
of those brilliant mornings in early September, when 
the sunlight seems to find its way everywhere. Even 
here, surrounded by the pile of worn grey stone build- 
ings, which threw shadows everywhere, it had pene- 
trated. A long shaft of soft, warm light stretched 
across the cobbles to their feet. Berenice, slim and 
elegant, fresh as the morning itself, glanced up at her 
companion with a smile. 

“Clara,” she remarked, “does not like to be kept 
waiting.” 

“She is not down yet,” he answered, “and there is 
something I want to say to you.” 

Her delicate eyebrows were a trifle uplifted. 

“Do you think that you had better?” she asked. 

“I am a man,” he said, “and things are known to 
me which a woman would scarcely discover. Do you 
think that it is quite fair to send Lady Redford out 
motoring with Mrs. Mannering?” 

“Why not?” 

“Lady Redford is, of course, ignorant of Mrs. 
Mannering’s. antecedents. What you may do yourself 
concerns no one. You make your own social laws, 
and you have a right to. But I do not think that even 


THE SNUB FOR BORROWDEAN 


208 


you have a right to pass Blanche Phillimore on to your 
friends, even under the shelter of Mannering’s name.” 

Berenice looked at him for several seconds without 
speaking. Borrowdean bit his lip. 

“If we were not acquaintances of long standing, 
Sir Leslie,” she said, calmly, “I should consider your 
remarks impertinent. As it is, I choose to look upon 
them as a regrettable mistake. The person, whoever 
she may be, whom the Duchess of Lenchester chooses 
to receive is usually acceptable to her friends. I beg 
that you will not refer to the subject again.” 

Sir Leslie bowed. 

“I have no more to say,” he declared. “Know- 
ing naturally a good deal more than you concerning 
the lady in question, I considered it my duty to say 
what I have said.” 

“It is the sort of duty,” Berenice murmured, “which 
the whole world seems to accept always with a relish. 
One does not expect it so much from your sex. Mrs. 
Mannering was born one of us, and she has had an 
unhappy life. If she has been indiscreet she has her 
excuses. I choose to whitewash her. Do you under- 
stand? I pay dearly enough for my social position, 
and I certainly claim its privileges. I recognize Mrs. 
Mannering, and I require my friends to do so.” 

Sir Leslie rose up. 

a You are, if you will forgive my saying so,” he re- 
marked, drily, “more generous than wise.” 

“That,” she answered, “is my affair. Here comes 
Clara. Before you start, find Mr. Mannering. He is 
in the hotel somewhere writing letters, and tell him 
that when he has finished I wish to speak to him.” 

Sir Leslie only bowed. He felt himself opposed by 


204 


A LOST LEADER 


a will as strong as his own, and he was too seriously 
annoyed to trust himself to speech. Clara, in her cool 
white linen dress, came strolling up. 

“What have you been doing to Sir Leslie ?” she 
asked, laughing. “He has just gone into the hotel 
with a face like a thunder-cloud.” 

“I have been giving him a lesson in Christian 
charity,” Berenice answered. “He needs it.” 

Clara nodded. She understood. 

“I think you are awfully kind,” she said. 

Berenice smiled. 

“I hate all narrowness,” she said, “and if there is 
a man on God’s earth who deserves to have people 
kind to him it is your uncle.” 

Sir Leslie returned, and he and Clara departed for 
the golf links. Berenice was left alone in the little grey 
courtyard, fragrant with the perfume of scented shrubs 
and blossoming plants, filled too, with the warm sun- 
light, which seemed to find its way into every corner. 
She sat at her little table, paler than a few moments 
ago, her teeth clenched, her white fingers clasped 
together. Underneath her muslin blouse her heart 
had suddenly commenced to beat fiercely — a sense 
of excitement, long absent, was stealing through her 
veins. The bonds which a year’s studied self-re- 
pression had forged were snapped apart. She knew 
now what it meant, the great inexpressible thing, the 
one eternal emotion which has come throbbing down 
the world from the days when poets sung their first 
song and painters flung truth on to canvas. She was 
a woman like the others, and she loved. Her unique 
position in society, her carefully studied life, her lofty 
ambitions, were like vain things crumbling into dust 


THE SNUB FOR BORROWDEAN 


205 


before her eyes. A year of cold misery seemed atoned 
for by the simple fact that within a few yards of her he 
sat writing — that within a few minutes he would be by 
her side. Of the future she scarcely thought. Hers 
was the woman’s love, content with small things. Its 
passion was of the soul, and its song was self-sacrifice. 
But if she had known — if she had only known! 

He came out to her soon. His manner was quiet 
and a little grave. Self-control came easier to him 
because the truth had been with him longer. Never- 
theless, he was not wholly at his ease. 

“ You know what has happened?” she asked, smiling. 
“The Redfords have taken Mrs. Mannering and her 
daughter motoring, and Sir Leslie and Clara have gone 
to the golf links. You and I are left to entertain one 
another.” 

“What would you like to do?” he asked, simply. 

“I should like to walk,” she answered, “down by 
the sea somewhere. I am ready now.” 

They made their way through the little town, along 
the promenade and on to the sands beyond. Then a 
climb, and they found themselves in a thick wood 
stretching back inland from the sea. She pointed to 
a fallen trunk. 

“Let us sit down,” she said. “There are so many 
things I want to ask you.” 

On the way they had spoken only of indifferent 
matters, yet from the first Mannering had felt the 
presence of a subtle something in her deportment 
towards him, for which he could find no explanation. 
He himself was feeling the tension of this meeting. 
He had expected to find her so different. Gracious, 
perhaps, because she was a great lady, but certainly 


206 


A LOST LEADER 


without any of these suggestions of something kept 
back, which continually, without any sort of direct 
expression, made themselves felt. And when they 
sat down she said nothing. He had the feeling that 
it was because she dared not trust herself to speak. 
Surprise and agitation kept him, too, silent. 

At last she spoke. Her voice was not very steady, 
and she avoided looking at him. 

“I should like,” she said, “to have you tell me about 
yourself — about your life — and your work.” 

“It is told in a few words,” he answered. “Some- 
where, somehow, I have failed! I could not adopt 
the Birmingham programme, I could not oppose it. 
You know what isolation means politically? — abuse 
from one side and contempt from the other. That 
is what I am experiencing. The working classes have 
some faith in me, I believe. My work, such as it is, 
is solely for them. I suppose the papers tell the truth 
when they say that mine is a ruined career — only, 
you see, I am trying to do the best I can with the 
pieces.” 

“Yes,” she said, softly, “that is something. To 
do the best one can with the pieces. We all might 
try to do that.” 

He smiled. 

“You, at least, have no need to consider such a 
thing,” he said. “So far as any woman can be pre- 
eminent in politics you have succeeded in becoming so. 
I saw that a lady's paper a few weeks ago said that 
your influence outside the Cabinet was more power- 
ful than any one man's within it.” 

“Yes,” she said, calmly, “the papers talk like that. 
It gives their readers something to laugh at! I wonder 


THE SNUB FOR BORROWDEAN 


207 


what you would say, my friend, if I told you that I, 
too, am engaged in that same thankless task. I, too, 
am striving to do the best I can with the pieces.” 

“You are not serious!” he protested. 

“I am very serious indeed,” she declared. “Shall I tell 
you more? Shall I tell you when I made my mistake?” 

“No!” he cried, hoarsely. 

“But I shall,” she continued, suddenly gripping his 
arm. “I meant to tell you. I brought you here to 
tell you. I made my mistake when I let Leslie Bor- 
rowdean take you back to Lord Redford just as we 
were entering the rose-garden at Bayleigh. Do you 
remember? I made my mistake when I suffered 
anything in this great world to come between me and 
a woman’s only chance of happiness! I made my 
mistake when I was too proud to tell you that I loved 
you, and that nothing else in the world mattered. 
There! You tried me hard! You know that! But 
my mistake was none the less fatal. I ought to have 
held fast by you, and I let you go. And I shall suffer 
for it all my days.” 

“You cared like that?” he cried. 

“Worse!” she answered, turning her flushed face 
towards him. “I care now. Kiss me, Lawrence!” 

He held her in his arms. Time stood still until 
she stole away with an odd little laugh. 

“There,” she said, “I have vindicated myself. No 
one can ever call me a proud woman again. And you 
know the truth! I might have had you all to myself 
and I let you go. Now I am going to do the best I 
can with the pieces. The half of you I want belongs 
to your wife. I must be content with the other half. 
I suppose I may have that?” 


208 


A LOST LEADER 


“But your friends ” 

“Bosh! My friends and your wife must make the 
best of it. I shan’t rob her again as I did just now. 
You can blot that out — antedate it. It belonged to 
the past. But I am not going through life as I have 
gone through this last year, longing for a sight of you, 
longing to hear you speak, and denying myself just 
because you are married. Live with your wife, Law- 
rence, and make her as happy as you can, but 
remember that you owe me a great deal, too, and you 
must do your best to pay it. Don’t look at me as 
though I were talking nonsense.” 

He held her hand. She placed it in his unresist- 
ingly. All the lines in his face seemed smoothed out. 
The fire of youth was in his eyes. 

“Do you wonder that I am surprised?” he asked. 
“All this year you have made no sign. All the time 
I have been schooling myself to forget you.” 

“Don’t dare to tell me that you have succeeded!” 
she exclaimed. 

“Not an iota!” he answered. “It was the most 
miserable failure of my life.” 

She smiled upon him delightfully, and gently with- 
drew her hand. 

“Lawrence,” she said, “I am going to talk to you 
seriously for one minute. You are too conscientious 
for a politician. Don’t let the same vice spoil our 
friendship! Certain things you owe to your wife. 
Mind, I admit that, though from some points of view 
even that might be disputed. But you also owe me 
certain things — and I mean to be paid. I won’t be 
avoided, mind. I want to be treated as a very close 
— and dear — companion — and — kiss me once more, 


THE SNUB FOR BORROWDEAN 209 

Lawrence, and then we’ll begin,” she wound up, with 
a little sob in her throat. 

An hour later the whole party had dejeuner to- 
gether in the courtyard of the little hotel. The 
Duchess was noticeably kind to Mrs. Mannering, and 
she snubbed Sir Leslie. Clara looked on a little gravely. 
The situation contained many elements of interest. 


CHAPTER III 


CLOUDS — AND A CALL TO ARMS 

HE first cloud appeared towards the end of the 



third day at Bonestre. Blanche and Sir Leslie 
were left alone, and he hastened to improve the 
opportunity. 

“The Duchess and your husband/’ he remarked, 
“appear very easily to have picked up again the 
threads of their old friendship.” 

“The Duchess,” she answered, “is a very charm- 
ing woman. I am sure that you find her so, don’t 


you?” 


“We are very old friends,” he answered, “but I 
was never admitted to exactly the same privileges 
as your husband enjoys.” 

“The Duchess,” she answered, calmly, “is a woman 
of taste!” 

Sir Leslie muttered something under his breath. 
Blanche made a movement as though to take up again 
the book which she had been reading in a sheltered 
corner of the hotel garden. 

“Don’t you think,” he said, “that we should make 
better friends than enemies?” 

“I am not at all sure,” she answered, calmly. “To 
tell you the truth, I don’t fancy you particularly in 
either capacity.” 

He laughed unpleasantly. 

“You are scarcely complimentary,” he remarked. 


CLOUDS— AND A CALL TO ARMS 211 


“I did not mean to be,” she answered. “Why 
should I?” 

“You are content, then, to let your husband drift 
back into his old relations with the Duchess? I pre- 
sume that you know what they were?” 

“Whether I am or not,” she answered/' what business 
is it of yours?” 

“I will tell you, if you like,” he answered. “In 
fact, I think it would be better. It has been the one 
desire of my life to marry the Duchess of Lenchester 
myself.” 

She smiled at him scornfully. 

“Come,” she said, “let me give you a little advice. 
Give up the idea. They say that lookers-on see most 
of the game, and so far as I am concerned Urn cer- 
tainly the looker-on of this party. The Duchess 
doesn’t care a row of pins about you!” 

“There are other marriages, besides marriages of 
affection,” Sir Leslie said, stiffly. “The Duchess is 
ambitious.” 

“But she is also a woman,” Blanche declared. “And 
she is in love.” 

“With whom?” 

“With my husband! I presume that is clear enough 
to most people!” 

Sir Leslie was a little staggered. 

“You take it very coolly,” he remarked. 

“Why not? The Duchess is too proud a woman to 
give herself away, and my husband — belongs to me!” 

“You haven’t any idea of taking poison, or any- 
thing of that sort, I suppose, have you?” he inquired. 
“The other woman nearly always does that.” 

“Not in real life,” Blanche answered, composedly. 


212 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Besides, I’m not the other woman — I’m the one. 
The Duchess is the other!” 

“But your husband ” 

“Do you know, I should prefer not to discuss my 
husband— with you,” Blanche said, calmly, taking 
up her book. “He is not the sort of man you would 
be at all likely to understand. If you want a rich 
wife why don’t you propose to Clara Mannering? I 
suppose you knew that some unheard-of aunt had 
left her fifty thousand pounds?” 

Sir Leslie rose to his feet. 

“I don’t fancy that you and I are very sympathetic 
this afternoon,” he remarked. “I will go and see if 
any one has returned.” 

“Do,” she answered. “I shall miss you, of course, 
but my book is positively absorbing, and I am dying 
to go on with it.” 

Sir Leslie left the garden without another word. 
Blanche held her book before her face until he had 
disappeared. Then it slipped from her fingers. She 
looked hard into a cluster of roses, and she saw only 
two figures — always the same figures. Her eyes were 
set, her face was wan and old. 

“The other woman!” she murmured to herself. 
“That is what I am. And I can’t live up to it. I 
ought to take poison, or get run over or something, 
and I know very well I shan’t. Bother the man! 
Why couldn’t he leave me alone?” 

After dinner that evening she accepted her hus- 
band’s nightly invitation and walked with him for a 
little while. The others followed. 

“How much longer can you stay away from Eng- 
land, Lawrence?” she asked him. 


CLOUDS — AND A CALL TO ARMS 213 


“Oh — a fortnight, I should think, ” he answered. 
“I am not tied to any particular date. You like it 
here, I hope?” 

“ Immensely! Are — our friends going to remain?” 

“I haven’t heard them say anything about moving 
on yet,” he answered. 

“Are you in love with the Duchess still, Lawrence?” 

“Am I— Blanche!” 

“Don’t be angry! You made a mistake once, you 
know. Don’t make another. I’m not a jealous woman, 
and I don’t ask much from you, but I’m your wife. 
That’s all!” 

She turned and called to Hester. The little party re- 
arranged itself. Mannering found himself with Berenice. 

“What was your wife saying to you?” she asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“It was the beginning,” he remarked. 

Berenice sighed. 

“It is a strange thing,” she said, “but in this world 
no one can ever be happy except at some one else’s 
expense. It is a most unnatural law of compensa- 
tion. Shall we move on to-morrow?” 

“The day after,” he pleaded. “To-morrow we are 
going to Berne val.” 

She nodded. 

“We are queer people, I think,” she said. “I have 
been perfectly satisfied this week simply to be with 
you. When it comes to an end I should like it to 
come suddenly.” 

He thought of her words an hour later, when on his 
return to the hotel they handed him a telegram. He 
passed it on at once to Lord Redford, and glanced at 
his watch. 


214 


A LOST LEADER 


“Poor Cunningham,” he said, “it was a short tri- 
umph for him. I must go back to-night, or the first 
train to-morrow morning. The sitting member for my 
division of Leeds died suddenly last night, Blanche,” 
he said to his wife. “I must be on the spot at once.” 

She rose to her feet. 

“I will go and pack,” she said. 

Lady Redford followed her very soon. Clara and 
Sir Leslie had not yet returned from their stroll. Lord 
Redford remained alone with them. 

“I scarcely know what sort of fortune to wish you, 
Mannering,” he said. “Perhaps your first speech will 
tell us.” 

Berenice leaned back in her chair. 

“I can’t imagine you as a labour member in the 
least,” she remarked. 

“Doesn’t this force your hand a little, Mannering?” 
Lord Redford said. “I understand that you were 
anxious to avoid a direct pronouncement upon the 
fiscal policy for the present.” 

Mannering nodded gravely. 

“It is quite time I made up my mind,” he said. 
“I shall do so now.” 

“May we find ourselves in the same lobby!” Lord 
Redford said. “I will go and find my man. He may 
as well take you to the station in the car.” 

Berenice smiled at Mannering luminously through 
the shadowy lights. 

“Dear friend,” she said, “I am delighted that you 
are going. Our little time here has been delightful, 
but we had reached its limit. I like to think that you 
are going back into the thick of it. Don’t be faint- 
hearted, Lawrence. Don’t lose faith in yourself. You 


CLOUDS— AND A CALL TO ARMS 215 


have chosen a terribly lonely path; if any man can 
find his way to the top, you can. And don’t dare to 
forget me, sir!” 

He caught her cheerful tone. 

“You are inspiring,” he declared. “Thank heaven, 
I have a twelve hours’ journey before me. I need 
time for thought, if ever a man did.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she answered, lightly. 
“The truth is somewhere in your brain, I suppose, and 
when the time comes you will find it. Much better 
think about your sandwiches.” 

The car backed into the yard. Blanche reappeared, 
and behind her Mannering’s bag. 

“I do hope that Hester and I have packed every- 
thing,” she said. “We could come over to-morrow, 
if there’s anything you want us for. If not we shall 
stay here for another week. Good-bye!” 

She calmly held up her lips, and Mannering kissed 
them after a moment’s hesitation. She remained by 
his side even when he turned to say farewell to Berenice. 

“I am sure you ought to be going,” she said calmly. 
“I will send on your letters if there are any to- 
morrow. Wire your address as soon as you arrive. 
Good luck!” 

The car glided away. They all stood in a group 
to see him go, and waved indiscriminate farewells. 
Blanche moved a little apart as the car disappeared, 
and Berenice watched her curiously. She was rub- 
bing her lips with her handkerchief. 

“A sting!” she remarked, becoming suddenly aware 
of the other’s scrutiny. “Nothing that hurts very 
much!” 


CHAPTER IV 


DISASTER 

M ANNERING, in his sitting-room at last, locked 
the door and drew a long breath of relief. Upon 
his ear-drums there throbbed still the yells of his 
enthusiastic but noisy adherents — the truculent cries 
of those who had heard his great speech with satis- 
faction, of those who saw pass from amongst them- 
selves to a newer school of thought one whom they 
had regarded as their natural leader. It was over at 
last. He had made his pronouncement. To some it 
might seem a compromise. To himself it was the only 
logical outcome of his long period of thought. He 
spoke for the workingman. He demanded inquiry, 
consideration, experiment. He demanded them in a 
way of his own, at once novel and convincing. Many 
of the most brilliant articles which had ever come 
from his pen he abjured. He drew a sharp line be- 
tween the province of the student and the duty of 
the politician. 

And now he was alone at last, free to think and dream, 
free to think of Bonestre, to wonder what reports of 
his meeting would reach the little French watering- 
place, and how they would be received. He could see 
Berenice reading the morning paper in the little grey 
courtyard, with the pigeons flying above her head and 
the sunlight streaming across the flags. He could 
hear Borrowdean’s sneer, could see Lord Redford’s 


DISASTER 


217 


shrug of the shoulders. There is little sympathy in 
the world for the man who dares to change his 
mind. 

There was a knock at the door, and his servant 
entered with a tray. 

“I have brought the whiskey and soda, sandwiches 
and cigarettes, sir,” he announced. “I am sorry to 
say that there is a person outside whom I cannot get 
rid of. His name is Far dell, and he insists upon it 
that his business is of importance.” 

Mannering smiled. 

“You can show him up at once,” he ordered; “now, 
and whenever he calls.” 

Fardell appeared almost directly. Mannering had 
seen him before during the day, but noticed at once a 
change in him. He was pale, and looked like a man 
who had received some sort of a shock. 

“Come in, Fardell, and sit down,” Mannering said. 
“You look tired. Have a drink.’ ’ 

Fardell walked straight to the tray and helped him- 
self to some neat whiskey. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “I — I’ve had rather a 
knockout blow.” 

He emptied the tumbler and set it down. 

“Mr. Mannering, sir,” he said, “I’ve just heard a 
man bet twenty to one in crisp five-pound bank-notes 
that you never sit for West Leeds.” 

“Was he drunk or sober?” Mannering asked. 

“Sober as a judge!” 

Mannering smiled. 

“How often did you take him?” he asked. 

“Not once! I didn’t dare!” 

Mannering, who had been in the act of helping him- 


218 


A LOST LEADER 


self to a whiskey and soda, looked around with the 
decanter in his hand. 

“I don’t understand you,” he said, bewildered. 
“You know very well that the chances, so far as 
they can be reckoned up, are slightly in my favour.” 

“They were!” Fardell answered. “Heaven knows 
what they are now.” 

Mannering was a little annoyed. It seemed to him 
that Fardell must have been drinking. 

“Do you mind explaining yourself?” he asked. 

“I can do so,” Fardell answered. “I must do so. 
But while I am about it I want you to put on your 
hat and come with me.” 

Mannering laughed shortly. 

“'What, to-night?” he exclaimed. “No, thank you. 
Be reasonable, Fardell. I’ve had my day’s work, and 
I think I ’ve earned a little rest. To be frank with 
you, I don’t like mysteries. If you’ve anything to 
say, out with it.” 

“Right!” Richard Fardell answered. “I am going 
to ask you a question, Mr. Mannering. Go back a 
good many years, as many years as you like. Is there 
anything in your life as a younger man, say when you 
first entered Parliament, which — if it were brought up 
against you now — might be — embarrassing?” 

Mannering did not answer for several moments. 
He was already pale and tired, but he felt what little 
colour remained leave his face. Least of all he had 
expected this. Even now — what could the man mean? 
What could be known? 

“I am not sure that I understand you,” he said. 
“There is nothing that could be known! I am sure 
of that.” 


DISASTER 


219 


“There is a person,” Fardell said, slowly, “who has 
made extraordinary statements. Our opponents have 
got hold of him. The substance of them is this: He 
says that many years ago you were the lover of a 
married woman, that you sold her husband worthless 
shares and ruined him, and that finally— in a quarrel 
— he declares that he was an eye-witness of this — 
that you killed him.” 

Mannering slowly subsided into his chair. His 
cheeks were blanched. Richard Fardell watched him 
with feverish anxiety. 

“It is a lie,” Mannering declared. “There is no man 
living who can say this.” 

“The man says,” Fardell continued, stonily, “that 
his name is Parkins, and that he was butler to Mr. 
Stephen Phillimore eleven years ago.” 

“Parkins is dead!” Mannering said, hoarsely. “He 
has been dead for many years.” 

“He is living in Leeds to-day,” Fardell answered. 
“A journalist from the Yorkshire Herald was with 
him for two hours this afternoon.” 

“Blanche — I was told that he was dead,” Manner- 
ing said. 

M Then the story is true?” Fardell asked. 

“Not as you have told it,” Mannering answered. 

“There is truth in it?” 

“Yes.” 

Richard Fardell was silent for several moments. 
He paced up and down the room, his hands behind his 
back, his eyebrows contracted into a heavy frown. For 
him it was a bitter moment. He was only a half- 
educated, illiterate man, possessed of sturdy common 
sense and a wonderful tenacity of purpose. He had 


220 


A LOST LEADER 


permitted himself to indulge in a little silent but none 
the less absolute hero-worship, and Mannering had been 
the hero. 

“You must come with me at once and see this man,” 
he said at last. “He has not yet signed his statement. 
We must do what we can to keep him quiet.” 

Mannering took up his coat and hat without a word. 
They left the hotel, and Fardell summoned a cab. 

“It is a long way,” he explained. “We will drive 
part of the distance and walk the rest. We may be 
watched already.” 

Mannering nodded. The last blow was so unex- 
pected that he felt in a sense numbed. His speech 
only a few hours ago had made large inroads upon his 
powers of endurance. His partial recantation had cost 
him many hours of torture, from which he was still 
suffering. And now, without the slightest warning, 
he found himself face to face with a crisis far graver, 
far more acute. Never in his most gloomy moments 
had he felt any real fear of a resurrection of the past 
such as that with which he was now threatened. It 
was a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Even now he 
found it hard to persuade himself that he was not 
dreaming. 

They were in the cab for nearly half an hour before 
Fardell stopped and dismissed it. Then they walked 
up and down and across streets of small houses, piti- 
less in their monotony, squalid and depressing in their 
ugliness. 

Finally Fardell stopped, and without hesitation 
knocked at the door of one of them. It was opened 
by a man in shirt-sleeves, holding a tallow candle in 
his hand. 


DISASTER 


221 


“What yer want?” he inquired, suspiciously. 

“Your lodger,” Fardell answered, pushing past him 
and drawing Mannering into the room. “Where is 
he?” 

The man jerked his thumb upwards. 

“Where he won’t be long,” he answered, shortly. 
“The likes of ’im having visitors, and one a toff, too. 
Say, are yer going to pay his rent?” 

“We may do that,” Fardell answered. “Is he up- 
stairs?” 

“Ay!” the man answered, shuffling away. “Pay ’is 
rent, and yer can chuck ’im out of the winder, if yer 
like!” 

They climbed the crazy staircase. Fardell opened 
the door of the room above without even the formality 
of knocking. An old man sat there, bending over a 
table, half dressed. Before him were several sheets of 
paper. 

“I believe we’re in time,” Fardell muttered, half 
to himself. “Parkins, is that you?” he asked, in a 
louder tone. 

The old man looked up and blinked at them. He 
shaded his eyes with one hand. The other he laid 
flat upon the papers before him. He was old, blear- 
eyed, unkempt. 

“Is that Master Ronaldson?” he asked, in a thin, 
quavering tone. “I’ve signed ’em, sir. Have yer 
brought the money? I’m a poor old man, and I need 
a drop of something now and then to keep the life 
in me. If yer’ll just hand over a trifle I’ll send out 
for — eh — eh, my landlord, he’s a kindly man — he’ll 
fetch it. Eh? Two of yer! I don’t see so well as I 
did. Is that you, Mr. Ronaldson, sir?” 


222 


A LOST LEADER 


Fardell threw some silver coins upon the table. The 
old man snatched them up eagerly. 

“It’s not Mr. Ronaldson,” he said, “but I daresay 
we shall do as well. We want to talk to you about 
those papers there.” 

The old man nodded. He was gazing at the silver 
in his hand. 

“Eve writ it all out,” he muttered. “I told ’un I 
would. A pound a week for ten years. That’s what 
I ’ad! And then it stopped! Did she mean me to 
starve, eh? Not I! John Parkins knows better nor 
that. I’ve writ it all out, and there’s my signature. 
It’s gospel truth, too.” 

“We are going to buy the truth from you,” Fardell 
said. “We have more money than Ronaldson. Don’t 
be afraid. We have gold to spare where Ronaldson 
had silver.” 

The old man lifted the candle with shaking fingers. 
Then it dropped with a crash to the ground, and lay 
there for a moment spluttering. He shrank back. 

“It’s ’im!” he muttered. “Don’t kill me, sir. I 
mean you no harm. It’s Mr. Mannering!” 


CHAPTER V 


THE JOURNALIST INTERVENES 

HE old man had sunk into a seat. His face and 



hands were twitching with fear. His eyes, as 
though fascinated, remained fixed upon Mannering’s. 
All the while he mumbled to himself. Fardell drew 
Mannering a little on one side. 

“What can we do with him?” he asked. “We 
might tear up those sheets, give him money, keep him 
soddened with drink. And even then he’d give the 
whole show away the moment any one got at him. It 
isn’t so bad as he makes out, I suppose?” 

“It is not so bad as that,” Mannering answered, 
“but it is bad enough.” 

“What became of the woman?” Fardell asked. 
“Parkins’s mistress, I mean?” 

“She is my wife,” Mannering answered. 

Fardell threw out his hands with a little gesture of 
despair. 

“We must get him away from here,” he said. “If 
Polden gets hold of him you might as well resign at 
once. It is dangerous for you to stay. He was 
evidently expecting that fellow Ronaldson tonight.” 

Mannering nodded. 

“What shall you do with him?” he asked. 

“Hide him if I can,” Fardell answered, grimly. 
“If I can get him out of this place, it ought not to 


224 


A LOST LEADER 


be impossible. The most important thing at present 
is for you to get away without being recognized.” 

Mannering took up his hat. 

“I will go,” he said. “I shall leave the cab for 
you. I can find my way back to the hotel.” 

Fardell nodded. 

“It would be better,” he said. “Turn your coat- 
collar up and draw your hat down over your eyes. 
You mustn’t be recognized down here. It’s a pretty 
low part.” 

Nevertheless, Mannering had not reached the corner 
of the street before he heard hasty footsteps behind 
him, and felt a light touch upon his shoulder. He 
turned sharply round. 

“Well, sir!” he exclaimed, “what do you want with 
me?” 

The newcomer was a tall, thin young man, wearing 
glasses, and although he was a complete stranger to 
Mannering, he knew at once who he was. 

“Mr. Mannering, I believe?” he said, quickly. 

“What has my name to do with you, sir?” Manner- 
ing answered, coldly. 

“Mine is Ronaldson,” the young man answered. “I 
am a reporter.” 

Mannering regarded him steadily for a moment. 

“You are the young man, then,” he said, “who has 
discovered the mare’s nest of my iniquity.” 

“'If it is a mare’s nest,” the young man answered, 
briskly, “I shall be quite as much relieved as dis- 
appointed. But your being down here doesn’t look 
very much like that, does it?” 

“No man,” Mannering answered, “hears that a 
bomb is going to be thrown at him without a certain 


THE JOURNALIST INTERVENES 225 


amount of curiosity as to its nature. I have been down 
to examine the bomb. Frankly, I don’t think much 
of it.” 

“You are prepared, then, to deny this man Parkins’s 
story?” the reporter asked. 

“I am prepared to have a shot at your paper for 
libel, anyhow, if you use it,” Mannering answered. 

“Do you know the substance of his communication?” 

“I can make a pretty good guess at it,” Mannering 
answered. 

“You really mean to deny it, then?” the reporter 
asked. 

“Assuredly, for it is not true,” Mannering answered. 
“Pray don’t let me detain you any longer!” 

He turned on his heel and walked away, but the 
reporter kept pace with him. 

“You will pardon me, but this is a very serious 
affair, Mr. Mannering,” he said. “Serious for both 
of us. Do you mind discussing it with me?” 

“Not in the least,” Mannering answered, “so long 
as you permit me to continue my way homewards.” 

“I will walk with you, sir, if you don’t mind,” the 
reporter said. “It is a very serious matter indeed, 
this! My people are as keen as possible to make use 
of it. If they do, and it turns out a true story, you, 
of course, will never sit for Leeds. And if on the 
other hand it is false, I shall get the sack!” 

“Well, it is false,” Mannering said. 

“Some parts of it, perhaps,” the young man an- 
swered, smoothly. “Not all, Mr. Mannering.” 

“Old men are garrulous,” Mannering remarked. “I 
expect you will find that your friend has been letting 
his tongue run away with him.” 


226 


A LOST LEADER 


“He has committed his statements to paper,” Ron- 
aldson remarked. 

“And signed them?” 

“He is willing to do so,” the reporter answered. 
“I was to have fetched them away to-night.” 

“You may be a little late,” Mannering remarked. 

The double entente in his tone did not escape Ron- 
aldson's notice. He stopped short on the pavement. 

“So you have bought him,” he remarked. 

Mannering glanced at him superciliously. 

“Will you pardon me,” he said, “if I remark that 
this conversation has no particular interest for me? 
Don't let me bring you any further out of your way.” 

Ronaldson took off his hat. 

“Very good, sir,” he remarked. “I will wish you 
good-night!” 

Mannering pursued his way homeward with the 
briefest of farewells. The young reporter retraced 
his steps. Arrived at Parkins's lodgings he mounted 
the stairs, and found the room empty. He returned 
and interviewed the landlord. From him he only 
learned that Parkins had departed with one of two 
gentlemen who had come to see him that evening, and 
that they had paid his rent for him. The reporter 
was obliged to depart with no more satisfactory in- 
formation. But next morning, before nine o’clock, 
he was waiting to see Mannering, and would not be 
denied. He was accompanied, too, by a person of 
no less importance than the editor of the Yorkshire 
Herald himself. 

Mannering kept them waiting an hour, and then 
received them coolly. 

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Polden,” he said, glancing 


THE JOURNALIST INTERVENES 227 

at the editor’s card. “I have already had some con- 
versation with our young friend there,” he added, 
glancing towards the reporter. “ What can I have the 
pleasure of doing for you?” 

Mr. Polden produced a sheet of proofs from his pocket. 
He passed them over to Mannering. 

“I should like you to examine these, sir,” he said. 

“In type already!” Mannering remarked, calmly. 

“In proof for our evening’s issue,” Polden answered. 

Mannering read them through. 

“It will cost you several thousand pounds!” he said. 

“Then the money will be well spent,” Polden an- 
swered. “No one has a higher regard for you poli- 
tically than I have, Mr. Mannering, but we don’t want 
you as member for West Leeds. That’s all!” 

“It happens,” Mannering said, “that I am particu- 
larly anxious to sit for West Leeds.” 

“You will go on — in the face of this?” the editor 
asked Mannering. 

“Yes, and with the suit for libel which will follow,” 
Mannering answered. 

The editor shrugged his shoulders. 

“Do me the favour to believe, Mr. Mannering,” he 
said, “that we have not gone into this matter blindfold. 
We had a preliminary intimation as to this affair from 
a person whose word carries considerable weight, and 
our investigations have been searching. I will admit 
that the disappearance of the man Parkins is a little 
awkward for us, but we have ample justification in 
publishing his story.” 

“I trust for your sakes that the law courts will sup- 
port your views,” Mannering said, coldly. “I scarcely 
think it likely.” 


228 


A LOST LEADER 


“Mr. Mannering,” Polden said, "I quite appreciate 
your attitude, but do you really think it is a wise 
one? I very much regret that it should have been 
our duty to unearth this unsavoury story, and having 
unearthed it, to use it. But you must remember that 
the issue on hand is a great one. I belong to the Liberal 
party and the absolute Free Traders, and I consider 
that for this city to be represented by any one who 
shows the least indication of being unsafe upon this 
question would be a national disaster and a local dis- 
grace. I want you to understand, therefore, that I am 
not playing a game of bluff. The proofs you hold in 
your hand have been set and corrected. Within a 
few hours the story will stand out in black and white. 
Are you prepared for this?” 

Mannering shrugged his shoulders. 

“I am not prepared to resign my candidature, if 
that is what you mean/’ he said. “I presume that 
nothing short of that will satisfy you?” 

“ Nothing,” the editor answered, firmly. 

“Then there remains nothing more,” Mannering 
remarked, coldly, “than for me to wish you a very 
good-morning.” 

“I am sorry,” Mr. Polden said. “I trust you will 
believe, Mr. Mannering, that I find this a very un- 
pleasant duty.” 

Mannering made no answer save a slight bow. He 
held open the door, and Mr. Polden and his satellite 
passed out. Afterwards he strolled to the window 
and looked down idly upon the crowd. 

“If I act in accordance with the conventions,” he mur- 
mured to himself, “I suppose I ought to take a glass of 
poison, or blow my brains out. Instead of which ” 


THE JOURNALIST INTERVENES 229 

He shrugged his shoulders, and rang for his hat and 
coat. He was due at one of the great foundries in 
half an hour to speak to the men during their luncheon 
interval. 

“ Instead of which,” he muttered, as he lit a cigar- 
ette, “I shall go on to the end.” 


CHAPTER VI 


TREACHERY AND A TELEGRAM 

HE sunlight streamed down into the little grey 



courtyard of the Leon D’or at Bonestre. Sir 
Leslie Borrowdean, in an immaculate grey suit, and 
with a carefully chosen pink carnation in his button- 
hole, sat alone at a small table having his morning 
coffee. His attention was divided between a copy 
of the Figaro and a little pile of letters and telegrams 
on the other side of his plate. More than once he 
glanced at the topmost of the latter and smiled. 

Mrs. Mannering and Hester came down the grey 
stone steps and crossed towards their own table. The 
former lingered for a moment as she passed Sir Leslie, 
who rose to greet the two women. 

“ Another glorious day!” he remarked. “What news 
from Leeds?” 

“None,” she said. “My husband seldom writes.” 

Sir Leslie smiled reflectively, and glanced towards 
the pile of papers at his side. 

“Perhaps,” she remarked, “you know better than 
I do how things are going there.” 

He shook his head. 

“I have no correspondents in Leeds,” he answered. 

At that moment a puff of wind disturbed the papers 
by his side. A telegram would have fluttered away, 
but Blanche Mannering caught it at the edge of the 
table. She was handing it back, when a curious ex- 


TREACHERY AND A TELEGRAM 2S.1 

pression on Borrowdean’s face inspired her with a 
sudden idea. She deliberately looked at the tele- 
gram, and her fingers stiffened upon it. His forward 
movement was checked. She stood just out of his 
reach. 

“No correspondents in Leeds,” she repeated. “Then 
what about this telegram?” 

“You will permit me to remind you,” he said, stretch- 
ing out his hand for it, “that it is addressed to me.” 

Her hands were behind her. She leaned over towards 
him. 

“It can be addressed to you a thousand times over,” 
she answered, “but before I part with it I want to 
know what it means.” 

Borrowdean was thinking quickly. He wanted to 
gain time. 

“I do not even know which document you have — 
purloined,” he said. 

“It is from Leeds,” she answered, “and it is signed 
Tolden’. 'Parkins found, has made statement, ap- 
pears to-night/ Can you explain what this means, 
Sir Leslie Borrowdean?” 

Her voice was scarcely raised above a whisper, but 
there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes. There were 
few traces left of the woman whom once before he had 
found so easy a tool. 

“I cannot tell you,” he answered. “It is not an 
affair for you to concern yourself with at all.” 

“Not an affair for me to concern myself about!” 
she repeated, leaning a little over towards him. “Isn’t 
it my husband against whom you are scheming? Don’t 
I know what low tricks you are capable of? Isn’t 
this another proof of it? Not an affair for me to 


232 


A LOST LEADER 


concern myself about, indeed! Didn’t you worm the 
whole miserable story out of me?” 

“My dear Mrs. Mannering!” 

She checked a torrent of words. Her bosom was 
heaving underneath her lace blouse. She was pale 
almost to the lips. The sudden and complete disuse 
of all manner of cosmetics had to a certain extent 
blanched her face. There was room there now for 
the writing of tragedy. Borrowdean, still outwardly 
suave, was inwardly cursing the unlucky chance which 
had blown the telegram her way. 

“Might I suggest,” he said, in a low tone, “that w’e 
postpone our conversation till after breakfast time? 
The waiters seem to be favouring us with a great deal 
of attention, and several of them understand English.” 

She did not even turn her head. Thinner a good 
deal since her marriage, she seemed to him to have 
grown taller, to have gained in dignity and presence, 
as she stood there before him, her angry eyes fixed 
upon his face. She was no longer a person to be 
ignored. 

“You must tell me about this— or ” 

“Or?” he repeated, stonily. 

“Or I will make a public statement,” she answered. 
“If you ruin my husband’s career, I can at least do 
the same with yours. Politics is supposed to be a game 
for honourable men to play with honourable weapons. 
I wonder if Lord Redford would approve of your 
methods?” 

“You can go and ask him, my dear madam,” he 
answered. “I am perfectly ready to defend myself.” 

“Defend! You have no defence,” she answered. 
“Can you deny that you are plotting to keep my 


TREACHERY AND A TELEGRAM 233 


husband out of Parliament now, just as a few months 
ago you plotted to bring him back? You are making 
use of a personal secret, a forgotten chapter of his life, 
to move him about like a puppet to do your will.” 

“I work for the good of a cause and a great party,” 
he answered. “You do not understand these things.” 

“I understand you so far as this,” she answered. 
“You are one of those to whom life is a chessboard, 
and your one aim is to make the pieces work for you, 
and at your bidding, till you sit in the place you 
covet. There isn’t much of the patriot about you, Sir 
Leslie Borrowdean.” 

He glanced down at his unfinished breakfast. He 
had the air of one who is a little bored. 

“My dear lady,” he said, “is this discussion really 
worth while?” 

“No,” she answered, bluntly, “it isn’t. You are 
quite right. We are wandering from the subject.” 

“Let us talk,” he suggested, “after breakfast. Give 
me back that telegram now, and I will explain it, say, 
in the garden in half an hour. I detest cold coffee.” 

“You can do like me, order some fresh,” she said. 
“If I let you out of my sight I know very well how 
much I shall see of you for the rest of the day. Explain 
now if you can. What does that telegram mean?” 

“Surely it is obvious enough,” he answered. “The 
man Parkins, whom you told me was dead, is alive 
and in Leeds. He has seen Mannering’s name about, 
has been talking, and the press have got hold of his 
story. I am sorry, but there was always this possi- 
bility, wasn’t there?” 

“And this telegram?” she asked. 

“I know Polden, the editor of the paper, and he 


234 A LOST LEADER 

referred to me to know if there could be any truth 
in it.” 

“ These are lies!” she declared. “You were the 
instigator. You set them on the track.” 

“I have nothing more to say,” Borrowdean de- 
clared, coldly. 

“I have,” she said. “I shall take this telegram 
to Lord Bedford. I shall tell him everything!” 

A faint smile flickered upon Borrowdean’s lips. 

“Lord Redford would, I am sure, be charmed to 
hear your story,” he remarked. “Unfortunately he 
started for Dieppe this morning before eight o’clock, 
and will not be back until to-morrow.” 

“And to-morrow will be too late,” she added, rapidly 
pursuing his train of thought. “Then I will try the 
Duchess!” 

He started very slightly, but she saw it. 

“Sit down for a moment, Mrs. Mannering,” he said. 

She accepted the chair he placed for her. There 
was a distinct change in his manner. He realized 
that this woman held a trump card against him. Even 
in her hands it might mean disaster. 

“Blanche ” he began. 

“Thank you,” she interrupted, “I prefer ‘Mrs. Man- 
nering. 7 ” 

He bit his lips in annoyance. 

“Mrs. Mannering, then, 77 he continued, “we have 
been allies before, and I think that you will admit 
that I have always kept faith with you. I don’t see 
any reason why we should play at being enemies. You 
have a price, I suppose, for that telegram and your 
silence. Name it.” 

She nodded. 


TREACHERY AND A TELEGRAM 235 

“Yes, I have a price/’ she admitted. 

“Remember that, after all, this is not a great 
issue/' he said. “If your husband does not get in for 
Leeds he will probably find a seat somewhere else.” 

“That is false,” she answered, “If your man Polden 
publishes Parkins’s story my husband’s political career 
is over, and you know it. Do keep as near to the 
truth as you can.” 

“I will give you,” he said, “five hundred pounds 
for that telegram and your silence.” 

She rose slowly to her feet. A dull flush of colour 
mounted almost to her eyes. Borrowdean watched 
her anxiously. Then for a moment came an inter- 
ruption. The Duchess was descending the grey stone 
steps from the hotel. 

She had addressed some word of greeting to them. 
They both turned towards her. She wore a white 
serge dress, and she carried a white lace parasol over 
her bare head. She moved towards them with her 
usual languid grace, followed by her maid carrying 
a tiny Maltese dog and a budget of letters. The loiter- 
rers in the courtyard stared at her with admiration. 
It was impossible to mistake her for anything but a 
great lady. 

“You have the air of conspirators, you two!” she 
said, as she approached them. “Is it an expedition 
for the day that you are planning?” 

Blanche Mannering turned her back upon Borrow- 
dean. 

“Sir Leslie,” she said, “has just offered me five 
hundred pounds for a telegram which I have here 
and for my silence concerning its contents. I was 
wondering whether he had bid high enough.” 


236 


A LOST LEADER 


The Duchess looked from one to the other. She 
almost permitted herself to be astonished. Borrow- 
dean’s face was dark with anger. Blanche Mannering’s 
apparent calmness was obviously of the surface only. 

“Are you serious ?” she asked. 

“Miserably so!” Blanche answered. “Sir Leslie 
has strange ideas of honour, I find. He is making 
use of a story which I told him once concerning my 
husband, to drive him out of political life. Duchess, 
will you do me the favour to let me talk with you for 
five minutes, and to make Sir Leslie Borrowdean prom- 
ise not to leave this hotel till you have seen him again?” 

“I have no intention of leaving the hotel,” Sir Leslie 
said, stiffly. 

Berenice pointed to her table. 

“Come and take your coffee with me, Mrs. Man- 
nering,” she said. 

Mannering passed through the day like a man in a 
nightmare. He addressed two meetings of working- 
men, and interviewed half a dozen of his workers. 
At midday the afternoon edition of the Yorkshire 
Herald was being sold in the streets. He bought a 
copy and glanced it feverishly through. Nothing! 
He lunched and went on with his work. At three 
o’clock a second edition was out. Again he purchased 
a copy, and again there was nothing. The suspense 
was getting worse even than the disaster itself. Be- 
tween four and five they brought him in a telegram. 
He tore it open, and found that it was from Bonestre. 
The words seemed to stare up at him from the pink 
form. It was incredible: 

“ Polden muzzled. Go in and win.” 


TREACHERY AND A TELEGRAM 237 


The form fluttered from his fingers on to the floor 
of his sitting-room. He stood looking at it, dazed. 
Outside, a mob of people, standing round his carriage, 
were shouting his name. 


CHAPTER VII 


MR. MANNERING, M.P. 

M ANNERING threw up his window with a sigh 
of immense relief. The air was cold and fresh. 
The land, as yet unwarmed by the slowly rising sun, 
was hung with a faint autumn mist. Traces of an 
early frost lay in the brown hedgerows inland; the 
sea was like a sheet of polished glass. Gone the smoke- 
stained rows of shapeless houses, the atmosphere pol- 
luted by a thousand chimneys belching smuts and black 
vapour, the clanging of electric cars, the rattle of all 
manner of vehicles over the cobbled streets. Gone 
the hoarse excitement of the shouting mobs, the poison- 
ous atmosphere of close rooms, all the turmoil and 
racket and anxiety of those fighting days. He was 
back again in Bonestre. Below in the courtyard the 
white cockatoo was screaming. The waiters in their 
linen coats were preparing the tables for the few remain- 
ing guests. And the other things were of yesterday! 

Mannering had arrived in the middle of the night 
unexpectedly, and his appearance was a surprise to 
every one. He had knocked at his wife’s door on 
his way downstairs, but Blanche had taken to early 
rising, and was already down. He found them all 
breakfasting together in a sheltered corner of the 
courtyard. 

Berenice, after the usual greetings and explana- 
tions, smiled at him thoughtfully. 


239 


MR. MANNERING, M.P. 

“I am not sure,” she said, "whether I ought to 
congratulate you or not. Sir Leslie here thinks that 
you mean mischief!” 

"Only on the principle,” Borrowdean said, "that 
whoever is not with us is against us.” 

"We are all agreed upon one thing,” Berenice said. 
"It was your last speech, the one the night before 
the election, which carried you in. A national party 
indeed! A legislator, not a politician! You talked 
to those canny Yorkshiremen with your head in the 
clouds, and yet they listened.” 

Mannering smiled as he poured out his coffee. 

"I talked common sense to them,” he remarked, "and 
Yorkshiremen like that. We have been slaves to the 
old-fashioned idea of party Government long enough. 
It’s an absurd thing when you come to think of it. 
Fancy a great business being carried on by a board 
of partners of divergent views, and unable to make a 
purchase or a sale or effect any change whatever with- 
out talking the whole thing threadbare, and then voting 
upon it. The business would go down, of course!” 

"Party Government,” Borrowdean declared, "is the 
natural evolution of any republican form of admin- 
istration. A nation that chooses its own represen- 
tatives must select them from its varying standpoint.” 

"Their views may differ slightly upon some mat- 
ters,” Mannering said, "but their first duty should 
be to come into accord with one another. It is a 
matter for compromises, of course. The real dif- 
ferences between intelligent men of either party are 
very slight. The trouble is that under the present 
system everything is done to increase them instead of 
bridging them over.” 


240 


A LOST LEADER 


“If you had to form a Government, then,” Berenice 
asked, “you would not choose the members from one 
party?” 

“Certainly not,” Mannering answered. “Supposing 
I were the owner of Redford’s car there, and wanted 
a driver. I should simply try to get the best man I 
could, and I should certainly not worry as to whether 
he were, say, a churchman or a dissenter. The 
best man for the post is what the country has a 
right to expect, whatever he may call himself, and the 
country doesn’t get it. The people pay the piper, and 
I consider that they get shocking bad value for their 
money. The Boer War, for instance, would have cost 
us less than half as much if we had had the right men 
to direct the commercial side of it. That money 
would have been useful in the country just now.” 

“An absolute monarchy,” Hester said, smiling, 
“would be really the most logical form of Govern- 
ment, then? But would it answer?” 

“Why not?” Borrowdean asked. “If the monarch 
were incapable he would of course be shot!” 

“A dictator ” Berenice began, but Mannering held 

out his hands, laughing. 

“Think of my last few days, and spare me!” he 
begged. “I have thirty-six hours’ holiday. How do 
you people spend your time here?” 

Berenice took him away with her as a matter of 
course. Blanche watched them depart with a curious 
tightening of the lips. She was standing alone in the 
gateway of the hotel, and she watched them until 
they were out of sight. Borrowdean, sauntering out 
to buy some papers, paused for a moment as he 
passed. 


241 


MR. MANNERING, M.P. 

“Your husband, Mrs. Mannering,” he said, drily, 
“is a very fortunate man.” 

She made no reply, and Borrowdean passed on. 
Hester came out with a message from Lady Redford — 
would Mrs. Mannering care to motor over to Berne val 
for luncheon? Blanche shook her head. She scarcely 
heard the invitation. She was still watching the two 
figures disappearing in the distance. Hester under- 
stood, but she spoke lightly. 

“I believe,” she said, “that the Duchess still has 
hopes of Mr. Mannering.” 

“She is a persistent woman,” Blanche answered. 
“They say that she generally succeeds. Let us go in.” 

Berenice was listening to Mannering’s account of 
his last few days’ electioneering. 

“The whole affair came upon me like a thunder- 
clap,” he told her. “Richard Fardell found it out 
somehow, and he took me to see Parkins. But it was 
too late. Polden had hold of the story and meant to 
use it. I never imagined but that Parkins had been 
talking and this journalist had got hold of him by 
accident. Now I understand that it was Borrowdean 
who was pulling the strings.” 

She nodded. 

“He traced Parkins out some time ago, and knew 
exactly where he was to be found.” 

“I think,” Mannering said, “that it is time Borrow- 
dean and I came to some understanding. I haven’t 
said anything about it yet. I don’t exactly know 
what to say now. You are a very generous woman.” 

She sighed. 

“No,” she said, “I don’t think that. Sir Leslie 


242 


A LOST LEADER 


is a schemer of the class I detest. I listened to him 
once, and I have regretted it ever since. Yet you 
must remember this! If it had not been for him 
you would have been at Blakely to-day.” 

His thoughts carried him backwards with a rush. 
Once more the thrall of that quiet life of passionless 
sweetness held him. He looked back upon it curi- 
ously, as a man who has passed into another country. 
Days of physical exaltation, alone with the sun and 
the wind and all the murmuring voices of Nature, God's 
life he had called it then. And now! The stress of 
battle was hard upon him. He was fighting in the 
front ranks, a somewhat cheerless battle, fighting for 
great causes with inefficient weapons. But he could 
not go back. Life had become a more strenuous, a 
more vital, a less beautiful thing! He felt himself 
ageing. All the inevitable sadness of the man in touch 
with the world's great problems was in his heart. But 
he could not go back. 

“Yes,” he said, quietly, “I owe that much to Bor- 
rowdean.” 

“There is a question,” she said, “which I have 
wanted to ask you. Do you regret, or are you glad 
to have been forced out once more upon the world's 
stage?” 

He smiled. 

“How can I answer you?” he asked. “At Blakely 
I was as happy as I knew how to be, and until 
you came I was content! But to-day, well, there are 
different things. How can I answer your question, 
indeed? Tell me what happiness means! Tell me 
whether it is an ignoble or a praiseworthy state!” 

Berenice was silent. Into her face there had come 


MR. MANNERING, M.P. 


243 


a sudden gravity. Mannering, glancing towards her, 
was at once conscious of the change. He saw the 
weariness so often and zealously repressed, the ageing 
of her face, the sudden triumph of the despair which 
in the quiet moments chilled her heart. It seemed 
to him that for that moment they had come into 
some closer communion. He bent over towards her. 

“Ah!” he murmured, “you, too, are beginning to 
understand. Happiness is only for the ignorant. 
For you and for me knowledge has eaten its way 
too far into our lives. We climb all the while, bu 
the flowers in the meadows are the fairest.” 



She shook her head. 

“The little white flower which grows in the moun- 
tains is what we must always seek,” she answered. 
“The meadows are for the others.” 

“We are accursed with this knowledge, and the 
desire for it,” he declared, fiercely. “The suffering 
is for us, and the joy for the beasts of the field. 
Why not throw down the cards? We are the devil’s 
puppets in this game of life.” 

“There is no place for us down there,” she answered, 
sadly. “There is joy enough for them, because the 
finger has never touched their eyes. But for us — no, 
we have to go on! I was a foolish woman, Lawrence. 
I lost my sense of proportion. Traditions, you see, 
were hard to break away from. I did not understand. 
Let this be the end of all mention of such things 
between us. We have missed the turning, and we 
must go on. That is the hardest thing in life. One 
can never retrace one’s steps.” 

“We go on — apart?” 

“We must,” she said, “ Don’t think me prejudiced, 


244 


A LOST LEADER 


Lawrence. I must stand by my party. Theoreti- 
cally, I think that you are the only logical politician 
I have ever known. Actually, I think that you are 
steering your course towards the sandbanks. You 
will fail, but you will fail magnificently. Well, that 
is something.” 

“It is a good deal,” he answered, “but if I live long 
enough, and my strength remains, I shall succeed. I 
shall place the Government of this country upon an 
altogether different basis. I shall empty the work- 
houses and fill the factories. Nothing short of that 
will content me. Nothing short of that would content 
any man upon whose shoulders the burden has fallen.” 

“You have centuries of prejudice to fight,” she 
warned him. “You may not succeed! Yet you have 
all my good wishes. I shall always watch you.” 

They turned homeward in silence. All that had 
passed between them seemed to be already far back 
in the past. Their retrogression seemed almost sym- 
bolical. They spoke of indifferent things. 

“Tell me,” he asked, “how you came to know what 
was going on in Leeds.” 

“It was your wife,” she said, “who discovered it!” 

“My wife?” 

“She saw a telegram on Sir Leslie’s table at break- 
fast, a telegram from the man Polden. She read it 
and demanded an explanation. Sir Leslie tried all 
he could to wriggle out of it, but in vain. She ap- 
pealed to me. Even I had a great deal of difficulty 
in dealing with him, but eventually he gave way.” 

“Then the telegram,” Mannering asked, “wasn’t 
that from you?” 

She shook her head. 


245 


MR. MANNERING, M.P. 

“It was from your wife,” she said. “I cannot take 
much credit for myself. It is she whom you must 
thank for your election. I came out at rather a dra- 
matic moment. Sir Leslie had just offered her money, 
five hundred pounds, I think, to give him back his 
telegram and say nothing. She appealed to me at 
once, and Sir Leslie looked positively foolish.” 

“I am much obliged to you for telling me,” Man- 
nering muttered. He remembered now that he had 
scarcely spoken a dozen words to his wife since his 
return. 

“Mrs. Mannering appears to have your interests 
very much at heart,” Berenice said, quietly. “She 
proved herself quite a match for Sir Leslie. I think 
that he would have left here at once, only we are 
expecting Clara back.” 

Mannering smiled scornfully. 

“I do not think that even Clara,” he said, “is quite 
fool enough not to recognize in Borrowdean the arrant 
opportunist. For my part I am glad that all pretence 
at friendship between us is now at an end. He is one 
of those men whom I should count more dangerous 
as a friend than as an enemy.” 

Berenice did not reply. They were already in the 
courtyard of the hotel. Blanche was in a wicker chair 
in a sunny corner, talking to a couple of young Eng- 
lishmen. Berenice turned towards the steps. They 
parted without any further words. 


CHAPTER VIII 


PLAYING THE GAME 

M ANNERING for a moment hesitated. One of 
the two young men who were talking to his 
wife he recognized as a former acquaintance of hers — 
one of a genus whom he had little sympathy with and 
less desire to know. While he stood there Blanche 
laughed at some remark made by one of her com- 
panions, and the laugh, too, seemed somehow to remind 
him of the old days. He moved slowly forward. 

The young men strolled off almost at once. Man- 
nering took a vacant chair by his wife’s side. 

“T have only just heard,” he said, “how much I have 
to thank you for. I took it for granted somehow that 
it was the Duchess who had discovered our friend 
Borrowdean’s little scheme and sent that telegram. 
Why didn’t you sign it?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“It was the Duchess who made him chuck it up,” 
she said. “I could never have made him do that. 
I was an idiot to let Parkins stay in England at all.” 
“I always understood,” he said, “that he was dead.” 
“I let you think so,” she answered. “I thought 
you might worry. But seriously, if he told the truth, 
now, after all these years, would any one take any 
notice of it?” 

“Very likely not,” he said, “so far as regards 
any criminal responsibility. But our political life is 


PLAYING THE GAME 


247 


fenced about by all the middle-class love of propriety 
and hatred , of all form of scandal. Parkins’s story, 
authenticated or not, would have lost me my seat 
for Leeds.” 

“Then I am very glad,” she said, “that I happened 
to see the telegram. Do you know where Parkins 
is now?” 

“One of my supporters,” he said, “a queer little 
man named Richard Fardell, has him in tow. He is 
bringing him up to London, I think.” 

She nodded. 

“What are you doing this afternoon?” he asked. 

She looked at him curiously. 

“Mr. Englehall has asked me to go out in his car,” 
she said. “I am rather tired of motoring, but I think 
I shall go.” 

Mannering lit a cigarette which he had just taken 
from his case. 

“I don’t think I should,” he remarked. 

She turned her head slowly, and looked at him. 

“Why not?” she asked. “How can it concern you? 
Your plans for the afternoon are, I presume, already 
made!” 

“It may not concern me directly,” he answered, “but 
I have an idea that Mr. Englehall is not exactly the 
sort of person I care to have you driving about with.” 

She laughed hardly. 

“I am most flattered by your interest in me,” she 
declared. “Pray consider Mr. Englehall disposed of. 
You have some other plans, perhaps?” 

“If you care to,” he said, “we will walk down to 
the club for lunch and come home by the sea.” 

“Alone?” 


248 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Certainly! Unless you choose to bring Hester.” 

She rose slowly to her feet. 

“No,” she said. “Let us go alone. It will be 
almost the first time since we were married, I think. 
I am curious to see how much I can bore you! Will 
you wait here while I find a hat?” 

She disappeared inside the hotel. Mannering watched 
her absently. In a vague sort of way he was won- 
dering what it was that had made their married 
life so completely a failure. He had imagined her 
as asking very little from him, content with the shelter 
of his name and home, content at any rate without 
those things of which he had made no mention when 
he had spoken to her of marriage. Anc^ he was be- 
coming gradually aware that it was not so. She 
expected, had hoped for more. The terms which he 
had zealously striven to cultivate with her were terms 
of which she clearly did not approve. The signs of 
revolt were already apparent. 

Mannering became absorbed in thought. He re- 
membered clearly the feelings with which he had gone 
to her and made his offer. He went over it all again. 
Surely he had made himself understood? But then 
there was her confession to him, the confession of her 
love. He had ignored that, but it was unforge table. 
Had he not tacitly accepted the whole situation? If 
so, was he doing his duty? The shelter of his name 
and home, what were those to a warm-hearted woman, 
if she loved him? He had married her, loving another 
woman. She must have known this, but did she un- 
derstand that he was not prepared to make any effort 
to accept the inevitable? He was still deep in thought 
when Berenice came out. 


PLAYING THE GAME 249 

“What are you doing there all by y ourself ?” she 
asked. “Where is your wife?” 

“She has gone to get a hat,” he answered. “We 
thought of going to the club for dejeuner .” 

She nodded. 

“A delightful idea,” she said. “Do invite me, and 
I will take you in the car. Mrs. Mannering likes 
motoring, I know.” 

“Of course!” he said. “We shall be delighted!” 

She beckoned to her chauffer, who was in the court- 
yard. Just then Blanche came out. She had changed 
her gown for one of plain white serge, and she wore a 
hat of tuscan straw which Mannering had once admired. 

“You won’t mind motoring, Mrs. Mannering?” 
Berenice said, as she approached. “I have invited 
myself to luncheon with you, and I am going to take 
you round to the club in the car.” 

Blanche stood quite still for a moment. The sun 
was in her eyes, and she lowered her parasol for a 
moment. 

“It will be very pleasant,” she said, quietly, “only 
I think that I will go in and change my hat. I 
thought that we were going to walk.” 

She retraced her steps, walking a little wearily. 
Berenice came and sat down by Mannering’s side. 

“I hope Mrs. Mannering does not object to my 
coming,” she said. “It occurred to me that she was 
not particularly cordial.” 

“It is only her manner,” he answered. “It is very 
good of you to take us.” 

“Your wife doesn’t like me,” Berenice said. “I 
wonder why. I thought that I had been rather decent 
to her.” 


250 


A LOST LEADER 


“ Blanche is a little odd/’ Mannering answered. 
“I am afraid that it is my fault. Here are the 
Redfords. I wonder if they would join us.” 

“Three,” she murmured, “is certainly an awkward 
number.” 

In the end the party became rather a large one, for 
Lord Redford met some old friends at the club who 
insisted upon their joining tables. In the interval, 
whilst they waited for luncheon, Mannering contrived 
to have a word alone with his wife. 

“I am not responsible,” he said, “for this enlarge- 
ment of our party. The Duchess invited herself.” 

“It does not matter,” she declared, listlessly. “What 
are you doing afterwards?” 

“ Playing golf , I fancy,” he answered. “You heard 
what Redford said about a foursome.” 

“And you are returning — when?” 
i “I must leave here at six to-morrow morning.” 

They were leaning over the white palings of the 
pavilion, looking out upon the last green. She seemed 
to be watching the approach of two players who were 
just coming in. 

“It is a long way to come,” she remarked, “for so 
short a time.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“The aftermath of a contested election is a thing 
to escape from,” he said. “I felt that I wanted to 
get as far away as possible, and then again I wanted 
to find out who it was who had sent that telegram.” 

They sat apart at luncheon, and Blanche was much 
quieter than usual. The others were all old friends. 
It seemed to her more than ordinarily apparent that 
she was present on sufferance, accepted as Mannering’s 


PLAYING THE GAME 


251 


wife, as an evil to be endured, and, so far as pos- 
sible, ignored. Mannering himself spoke to her now 
and then across the table. Lord Redford, always 
good-natured, made a few efforts to draw her into 
the conversation. But it seemed to her that she had 
lost her confidence. The freemasonry of old acquain- 
tance which existed between all of them left her out- 
side an invisible but very real circle. Words came to 
her with difficulty. She felt stupid, almost shy. When 
she made an effort to break through it she was acutely 
conscious of her failure. Her laugh was too hard, it 
lacked sincerity or restraint. The cigarette which she 
smoked out of bravado with her coffee, seemed some- 
how out of place. When at last luncheon was over 
Mannering left his place and came over to her. 

“The Duchess and I,” he said, “are going to play 
Lord Redford and Mrs. Arbuthnot. Won’t you walk 
round with us? The links are really very pretty.” 

“Thanks, I hate watching golf,” she answered, 
rising and shaking out her skirt. “Hester and I will 
walk home.” 

“Do take the car, Mrs. Mannering,” Berenice said. 
“It will simply be waiting here doing nothing.” 

“Thank you,” Blanche answered. “I shall enjoy 
the walk.” 

The foursome was played in very leisurely fashion. 
There was plenty of time for conversation. 

“I don’t quite understand your wife,” Berenice said 
to Mannering. “Her dislike of me is a little too ob- 
vious. What does it mean? Do you know?” 

He shook his head. He was looking very pale and 
tired. 

“I am not sure that I know anything about it at 


252 A LOST LEADER 

all,” he said. “I am beginning to distrust my own 
judgment.” 

“Your marriage ” she began, thoughtfully. 

“Don’t let us talk about it,” he interrupted. “I 
tried to pay a debt. It seems to me that I have only 
incurred a fresh one.” 

They were silent for some time. Then their oppo- 
nents lost a ball and displayed no particular diligence 
in attempting to find it. Berenice sat down upon 
a plank seat. 

“Your marriage,” she said, “seemed always to me a 
piece of quixotism. I never altogether understood it.” 

“It was an affair of impulse,” he said, slowly. “Life 
from a personal point of view had lost all interest to 
me. I did not dream after my — shall we call it ap- 
ostacy? — that I could rely upon even a modicum of 
your friendship. I looked upon myself as an outcast 
commencing life afresh. Then chance intervened. 
I thought I saw my way to making some atonement 
to a woman whose life I had certainly helped to ruin. 
That was where the serious part of the mistake came. 
I thought what I had to offer would be sufficient. I 
am beginning now to doubt it.” 

“And what are you going to do?” she asked, look- 
ing steadily away from him. 

“Heaven knows,” he answered, bitterly. “I cannot 
give what I do not possess.” 

Was it his fancy, or was there a gleam of satisfaction 
about her still, pale face? He went on. 

“I don’t want to play the hypocrite. On the other 
hand I don’t want all that I have done to go for 
nothing. Can you advise me?” 

“No, nor any one else,” she answered, softly. 


PLAYING THE GAME 


253 


“Yet I can perhaps correct a little your point of view. 
I think that you overestimate your indebtedness to 
the woman whom you have made your wife. Her 
husband was a weak, dissipated creature and he was 
a doomed man long before that unfortunate day. It 
is even very questionable whether that scene in which 
you figured had anything whatever to do in hastening 
his death. That is a good many years ago, and ever 
since then you seem to have impoverished yourself 
to find her the means to live in luxury. I consider that 
you paid your debt over and over again, and that 
your final act of self-abnegation was entirely uncalled 
for. What more she wants from you I do not know. 
Perhaps I can imagine.” 

There was a moment’s silence. She turned her head 
and looked at him — looked him in the eyes unshamed, 
yet with her secret shining there for him to see. 

“ There may be others, Lawrence,” she said, “to 
whom you owe something. A woman cannot take 
back what she has given. There may be sufferers 
in the world whom you ought also to consider. And 
a woman loves to think that what she may not have 
herself is at least kept sacred — to her memory.” 

“Fore!” cried Lord Redford, who had found his 
ball. “Awfully decent of you people to wait so long. 
We were afraid you meant to claim the hole!” 

Mannering rose to play his shot. 

“The Duchess and I, Lord Redford,” he said, lightly, 
“scorn to take small advantages. We mean to play 
the game!” 


CHAPTER IX 

THE TRAGEDY OF A KEY 

B LANCHE, in a plain black net gown, sat on Lord 
Redford’s right hand at the hastily improvised 
dinner party that evening. Berenice, more subtly 
and more magnificently dressed, was opposite, by 
Mannering’s side. The conversation seemed mostly 
to circle about them. 

“A very charming place,” Lord Redford declared. 
“I have enjoyed my stay here thoroughly. Let us 
hope that we may all meet here again next year,” he 
added, raising his glass. “Mannering, you will drink 
to that, I hope?” 

“With all my heart,” Mannering answered. “And 
you, Blanche?” 

She raised her almost untasted glass and touched 
it with her lips. She set it down with a faint smile. 
Berenice moved her head towards him. 

“Your wife is not very enthusiastic,” she remarked. 
“She neither plays golf nor bathes,” Mannering 
said. “It is possible that she finds it a little dull.” 

“Both are habits which it is possible to acquire,” 
Berenice answered. “I am telling your husband, Mrs. 
Mannering,” she continued, “that you ought to learn 
to play golf.” 

“Lawrence has offered to teach me more than once,” 
Blanche answered, calmly. “I am afraid that games 
do not attract me. Besides, I am too old to learn!” 


THE TRAGEDY OF A KEY 


255 


“My dear Mrs. Mannering!” Lord Redford protested. 

“I am forty-two/’ Blanche replied, “and at that 
age a woman thinks twice before she begins anything 
new in the shape of vigorous exercise. Besides, I find 
plenty to amuse me here.” 

“Might one ask in what direction?” Berenice mur- 
mured. “I have found in the place many things that 
are delightful, but not amusing.” 

“I find amusement often in watching my neigh- 
bours,” Blanche said. “I like to ask myself what it 
is they want, and to study their way of attaining it. 
You generally find that every one is fairly transparent 
when once you have found the key — and everybody 
is trying for something which they don’t care for other 
people to know about.” 

The Duchess looked at Blanche steadily. There was 
a certain insolence, the insolence of her aristocratic 
birth and assured position in the level stare of her 
clear brown eyes. But Blanche did not flinch. 

“I had no idea, Mrs. Mannering, that you had tastes 
of that sort,” Berenice said, languidly. “Suppose you 
give us a few examples.” 

“Not for the world,” Blanche answered, fervently. 
“Did you say that we were to have coffee outside, 
Lord Redford? How delightful! I wonder if Lady 
Redford is ready.” 

They all trooped out in a minute or two. Berenice 
laid her hand upon Mannering’s arm. 

“Your wife,” she said, quietly, “is going a little 
too far. She is getting positively rude to me!” 

Mannering muttered some evasive reply. He , too, 
had marked the note of battle in Blanche’s tone. He 
had noticed, too, the unusual restraint of her manner. 


256 


A LOST LEADER 


She had drunk little or no wine at dinner time, and 
she had talked quietly and sensibly. Directly they 
reached the courtyard she seated herself on a settee 
for two, and made room for him by her side. 

“Come and tell me about the golf match,” she said. 
“Who won?” 

Mannering had no alternative but to obey. Lady 
Redford, however, drew T her chair up close to theirs, 
and the conversation was always general. Berenice 
in a few minutes rose to her feet. 

“Listen to the sea,” she exclaimed. “Don’t some 
of you want to come down to the rocks and watch it?” 

Blanche rose up at once. 

“Do come, Lawrence, if you are not too tired!” 
she said. 

The whole party trooped out on to the promenade. 
Blanche passed her arm through her husband’s, and 
calmly appropriated him. 

“You can walk with whom you please presently, 
Lawrence,” she said, “but I want you for a few min- 
utes. I suppose you will admit that I have some 
claim?” 

“Certainly,” Mannering answered. “I have never 
denied it.” 

“I am your wife,” Blanche said, “though heaven 
knows why you ever married me. The Duchess is, 
I suppose, the woman whom you would have married 
if you hadn’t got into a mess with your politics. She 
is a very attractive woman, and you married me, of 
course, out of pity, or some such maudlin reason. But 
all the same I am here, and — I don’t care what you 
do when I can’t see you, but I won’t have her make 
love to you before my face.” 


THE TRAGEDY OF A KEY 


257 


“The Duchess is not that sort of woman, Blanche/’ 
Mannering said, gravely. 

“Isn’t she?” Blanche remarked, unconvinced. “Well, 
I’ve watched her, and in my opinion she isn’t very 
different from any other sort of woman. Do you wish 
you were free very much? I know she does!” 

“Is there any object to be gained by this conversa- 
tion?” Mannering asked. “Frankly, I don’t like it. 
I made you no absurd promises when I married you. 
I think that you understood the position very well. 
So far as I know I have given you no cause to 
complain.” 

They had reached the end of the promenade. Blanche 
leaned over the rail. Her eyes seemed fixed upon a 
light flashing and disappearing across the sea. Man- 
nering stood uncomfortably by her side. 

“No cause to complain!” she repeated, as though to 
herself. “No, I suppose not. And yet, how much 
the better off do you think I am, Lawrence? I had 
friends before of some sort or another. Some of them 
pretended to like me, even if they didn’t. I did as I 
chose. I lived as I liked. I was my own mistress. 
And now — well, there is no one! I enjoy the respec- 
tability of your name, the privilege of knowing your 
friends, the ability to pay my bills, but I should go 
stark mad if it wasn’t for Hester. I gave myself away 
to you, I know. You married me for pity, I know. 
But what in God’s name do I get out of it?” 

A note of real passion quivered in her tone. Man- 
nering looked down at her helplessly, taken wholly 
aback, without the power for a moment to formulate 
his thoughts. There was a touch of colour in her pale 
cheeks, her eyes were lit with an unusual fire. The 


258 


A LOST LEADER 


faint moonlight was kind to her. Her features, thinner 
than they had been, seemed to have gained a certain 
refinement. She reminded him more than ever before 
of the Blanche of many years ago. He answered her 
kindly, almost tenderly. 

“I am very sorry,” he said, “if I have caused you 
any suffering. What I did I did for the best. I don’t 
think that I quite understood, and I thought that you 
knew — what had come into my life.” 

“I knew that you cared for her, of course,” she 
answered, with a little sob, “but I did not know that 
you meant to nurse it — that feeling. I thought that 
when we were married you would try to care for me 
— a little. I — Here are the others!” 

Lord Redford, who had failed to amuse Berenice, 
and who had a secret preference for the woman who 
generally amused him, broke up their tete-a-tete. He 
led Blanche away, and Mannering followed with 
Berenice. 

“What does this change in your wife mean?” she 
asked, abruptly. 

“Change?” he repeated. 

“Yes! She watches us! If it were not too absurd, 
one would believe her jealous. Of course, it is not 
my business to ask you on what terms you are with 
your wife, but — — ” 

“You know what terms,” he interrupted. 

Her manner softened. She looked at him for a 
moment and then her eyes dropped. 

“I am rather a hateful woman!” she said, slowly. 
“I wish I had not said that. I don’t think we have 
managed things very cleverly, Lawrence. Still, I sup- 
pose life is made up of these sorts of idiotic blunders.” 


THE TRAGEDY OF A KEY 259 

“Mine,” he said, “has been always distinguished by 
them.” 

“And mine,” she said, “only since I came to Blakely, 
and learnt to talk nonsense in your rose-garden! But 
come,” she added, more briskly, “we are breaking our 
compact. We agreed to be friends, you know, and 
abjure sentiment.” 

He nodded. 

“It seemed quite easy then,” he remarked. 

“And it is easy now! It must be,” she added. “I 
have scarcely congratulated you upon your election. 
What it all means, and with which party you are 
going to vote, I scarcely know even now. But I can 
at least congratulate you personally.” 

“You are generous,” he said, “for I suppose I am 
a deserter. As to where I shall sit, it is very hard to 
tell. I fancy myself that we are on the eve of a com- 
plete readjustment of parties. Wherever I may find 
myself, however, it will scarcely be with your friends.” 

She nodded. 

“I realize that, and I am sorry,” she said. “All 
that we need is a leader, and you might have been he. 
As it is, I suppose we shall muddle along somehow 
until some one comes out of the ruck strong enough 
to pull us together. . . . Come and see me in Lon- 
don, Lawrence. Who knows but that you may be 
able to convert me!” 

“You are too staunch,” he answered, “and you have 
not seen what I have seen.” 

She sighed. 

“Didn’t you once tell me at Blakely that politics 
for a woman was a mischosen profession — that we 
were at once too obstinate and too sentimental? Per- 


260 


A LOST LEADER 


haps you were right. We don’t come into touch with 
the same forces that you meet with, and we come 
into touch with others which make the world seem 
curiously upside-down. Good-night, Lawrence! I am 
going to my room quietly. Lady Redford wants to 
play bridge, and I don’t feel like it! Bon voyage!” 

Mannering stood alone in the little courtyard, lit 
now with hanging lights, and crowded with stray 
visitors who had strolled in from the streets. The 
rest of the party had gone into the salon beyond, 
and Mannering felt curiously disinclined to join them. 
Suddenly there was a touch upon his arm. He turned 
round. Blanche was standing there looking up at 
him. Something in her face puzzled him. Her eyes 
fell before his. She was pale, yet as he looked at 
her a flood of colour rushed into her cheeks. His 
momentary impression of her eyes was that they were 
very soft and very bright. She had thrown off her 
wrap, and with her left hand was holding up her white 
skirt. Her right hand was clenched as though holding 
something, and extended timidly towards him. 

“I wanted to say good-night to you — and — there 
was something else — this!” 

Something passed from her hand to his, something . 
cold and hard. He looked at her in amazement, but 
she was already on her way up the grey stone steps 
which led from the courtyard into the hotel, and she 
did not turn back. He opened his hand and stared 
at what he found there. It was a key — number 
forty-four, Premier etage . 


CHAPTER X 


BLANCHE FINDS A WAY OUT 

M ANNERING was conscious of an overpowering 
desire to be alone. He made his way out of 
the courtyard and back to the promenade. Some 
of the lights were already extinguished, and a slight 
drizzling rain was falling. He walked at once to the 
further wall, and stood leaning over, looking into the 
chaos of darkness. The key, round which his fingers 
were still tightly clenched, seemed almost to burn his 
flesh. 

What to do? How much more of himself was he 
bound to surrender? Through a confusion of thoughts 
some things came to him then very clearly. Amongst 
others the grim, pitiless selfishness of his life. How 
much must she have suffered before she had dared 
to do this thing! He had taken up a burden and 
adjusted the weight to suit himself. He had had no 
thought for her, no care save that the seemliness of 
his own absorbed life might not be disturbed. And 
behind it all the other reason. What a pigmy of a 
man he was, after all. 

A clock from the town struck eleven. He must 
decide! A vision of her rose up before him. He 
understood now her weakness and her strength. She 
was an ordinary woman, seeking the affection her sex 
demanded from its legitimate source. He understood 
the coming and going of the colour in her cheeks, 


262 


A LOST LEADER 


her strained attempts to please, her barely controlled 
jealousy. In that mad moment when he had planned 
for her salvation he had imagined that she would have 
understood. What folly! Why should she? The com- 
plex workings of his innermost nature were scarcely 
likely to have been patent to her. What right had he 
to build upon that? What right, as an honest man, 
to contract a debt he never meant to pay? If he had 
not at the moment realized his responsibilities that was 
his own fault. From her point of view they were ob- 
vious enough, and it was from her point of view as well 
as his own that they must be considered. 

He turned back to the hotel, walking a little un- 
steadily. All the time he was not sure that this was 
not a dream. And then on the wet pavement he came 
face to face with two cloaked figures, one of whom 
stopped short and called him by name. It was Berenice ! 

“You!” he exclaimed, more than ever sure that he 
was not properly awake. 

“Is it so wonderful?” she answered. “To tell you 
the truth, I was not sleepy, and I felt like a little walk. 
You can go back now, Bryan,” she said, turning to 
her maid. “Mr. Mannering will see me home.” 

As though by mutual consent they crossed to the 
sea-wall. 

“What made you come out again?” she asked. 
“No, don’t answer me! I think that I know.” 

“Impossible,” he murmured. 

“I was going up to my room,” she said, “and as I 
passed the landing window which looks into the court- 
yard I saw you talking to your wife. I — I am afraid 
that I watched. I saw her leave you.” 

“Yes!” 


BLANCHE FINDS A WAY OUT 263 

“What was it that she gave you? What is it that 
you have in your hand?” 

He opened his fingers. She turned her head away. 
It seemed to him an eternity that she stood there. 
When she spoke her voice was scarcely more than a 
whisper. 

“Lawrence,” she said, “we have been very selfish, 
you and I! There have been no words between us, 
but I think the compact has been there all the same. 
It seemed to me somehow that it was a compensation, 
that it was part of the natural order of things, that as 
our own folly had kept us apart, you should still belong 
to me — in my thoughts. And I have no right to this, 
or any share of you, Lawrence.” 

He drew a little nearer to her. She moved instantly 
away. 

“I am glad,” she said, “that our party breaks up 
to-morrow. When we meet again, Lawrence, it must 
be differently. I am parting with a great deal that 
has been precious to me, but it must be. It is quite 
clear.” 

“I made no promise!” he cried, hoarsely. “I did 
not mean ” 

She stopped him with a swift glance. 

“Never mind that. You and I are not of the race 
of people who shrink from their duty, or fear to do 
what is right. Your wife’s face taught me mine. Your 
conscience will tell you yours.” 

“You mean?” he exclaimed. 

“You know what I mean. We shall meet again, of 
course, but this is none the less our farewell. No, 
don’t touch me! Not even my hand, Lawrence. 
Don’t make it any harder. Let us go in.” 


264 


A LOST LEADER 


But he did not move. The place where they stood 
was deserted. From below the white spray came 
leaping up almost to their faces as the waves beat 
against the wall. Behind them the town was black 
and deserted, save where a few lights gleamed out 
from the hotel. She shivered a little, and drew her 
cloak around her. 

“Come,” she said, “I am getting cold and cramped.” 

He walked by her side to the hotel. At the foot 
of the steps she left him. 

“We shall meet again in London,” she said, quietly. 
“Don’t be too hard upon your old friends when you 
take your seat. Remember that you were once one 
of us.” 

She looked round and waved her hand as she dis- 
appeared. He caught a glimpse of her face as she 
passed underneath the hanging lamp — the face of a 
tired woman suddenly grown old. With a little groan 
he made his way into the hotel, and slowly ascended 
the stairs. 

Early the next morning Mannering left Bonestre, 
and in twenty-four hours he was back again, summoned 
by a telegram which had met him in London. It 
seemed to him that everybody at the station and about 
the hotel regarded him with shocked and respectful 
sympathy. Hester, looking like a ghost, took him at 
once to her room. He was haggard and weary with 
rapid travelling, and he sank into a chair. 

“Tell me — the worst!” he said. 

“She started with Mr. Englehall about mid-day,” 
Hester said. “They had luggage, but I explained that 
he was going to Paris, she was coming back by train. 
At two o’clock we were rung up on the telephone. 


BLANCHE FINDS A WAY OUT 


265 


Their brake had snapped going down the hill by St. 
Entuiel, and the chauffeur — he is mad now — but they 
think he lost his nerve. They were dashed into a tree, 
and — they were both dead — when they were got out 
from the wreck.” 

“God in Heaven!” Mannering murmured, white to 
the lips. 

There was a silence between them. Mannering had 
covered his head with his hands. Hester tried once 
or twice to speak, but the tears were streaming 
from her eyes. She had the air of having more to 
say. The white horror of tragedy was still in her 
face. 

“There is a letter,” she said at last. “She left a 
letter for you.” 

Mannering rose slowly to his feet and moved to the 
lamp. Directly he had broken the seal he understood. 
He read the first line and looked up. His eyes met 
Hester’s. 

“Who knows — this?” he asked, hoarsely. 

“No one! They had not been gone two hours. I 
explained everything.” 

Then Mannering read on. 

“My dear Husband: 

“I call you that for the last time, for I am going off 
with Englehall to Paris. Don’t be too shocked, and 
don’t despise me too much. I am just a very ordinary 
woman, and I’m afraid I’ve bad blood in my veins. Any- 
how, I can’t go on living under a glass case any longer. 
The old life was rotten enough, but this is insupportable. 
I’m going to have a fling, and after that I don’t care 
what becomes of me. 

“Now, Lawrence, I don’t want you to blame yourself. 
I did think perhaps that when we were married I might 


266 


A LOST LEADER 


have got you to care for me a little, but I suppose that 
was just my vanity. It wasn’t very possible with a 
woman like — well, never mind who — about. You did 
your best. You were very nice and very kind to me last 
night, but it wasn’t the real thing, was it? I knew you 
hated being where you were. I could almost hear your 
sigh of relief when I let you go. The fact of it is, our 
marriage was a mistake. I ought to have been satisfied 
with your name, I suppose, and the position it gave me, 
but I’m not that sort of woman. I’ve been in Bohemia 
too long. I like cheery friends, even if their names are 
not in Debrett, and I must have some one to care for me, 
or to pretend to care for me. You know I’ve cared for 
you — only you in a certain way — but I’m not heroic 
enough to be content with a shadowy love. I’m not an 
idealist. Imagination doesn’t content me in the least. 
I’d rather have an inferior substance than ideal perfec- 
tion. You see, I’m a very commonplace person at heart, 
Lawrence — almost vulgar. But these are my last words 
to you, so I’ve gone in for plain speaking. Now you’re 
rid of me. 

“ That’s all! From your point of view I suppose, and 
your friends, I’ve gone to the devil. Don’t be too sure 
of it. I’m going to have a good time, and when the 
end comes I’m willing to pay. If you are idiotic enough 
to come after me, I shall be angry with you for the first 
time in my life, and it wouldn’t be the least bit of use. 
Englehall’s an old friend of mine, and he’s a good sort. 
He’s wanted me to do this often enough for years, but I 
never felt quite like it. I believe he’d marry me after, 
but he’s got a wife shut up somewhere. 

“ I expect you think this a callous sort of letter. Well, 
I can’t help it. If it disgusts you with me, so much the 
better. I’m sorry for the scandal, but you will get over 
that. Good-bye, Lawrence. Forgive me all the bother 
I’ve been to you. 

“Blanche.” 

Mannering looked up from the letter, and again his 
eyes met Hester's. The secret was theirs alone. Very 


BLANCHE FINDS A WAY OUT 


267 


carefully he tore the pages into small pieces. Then 
he opened the stove and watched them consumed. 

“No one will ever know,” Hester said. “She said 
— when she left — that it was a morning’s ride — but 
motors were so uncertain that she took a bag.” 

Mannering’s eyes were filled once more with tears. 
The intolerable pity of the whole tiling, its awful sud- 
denness, swept every other thought out of his mind. 
He remembered how anxiously she had tried to please 
him on that last night. He loathed himself for the 
cold brutality of his chilly affection. Hester came 
and knelt by his side, but she said nothing. So the 
hours passed. 


BOOK IV 


CHAPTER I 


THE PERSISTENCY OF BORROWDEAN 

ND what does Mannering think of it all, I 



wonder !” Lord Redford remarked, lighting a 
fresh cigarette. “This may be his opportunity, who 
can tell ! 

“Will he have the nerve to grasp it?” Borrowdean 
asked. “Mannering has never been proved in a crisis.” 

“He may have the nerve. I should be more in- 
clined to question the desire,” Lord Redford said. 
“For a man in his position he has always seemed 
to me singularly unambitious. I don’t think that 
the prospect of being Prime Minister would dazzle him 
in the least. It is part of the genius of the politician 
too, to know exactly when and how to seize an op- 
portunity. I can imagine him watching it come, 
examining it through his eyeglass, and standing on 
one side with a shrug of the shoulders.” 

“You do not believe, then,” Berenice said, “that he 
is sufficiently in earnest to grasp it?” 

“Exactly,” Lord Redford said. “I have that feel- 
ing about Mannering, I must admit, especially during 
the last two years. He seems to have drawn away from 
all of us, to live altogether too absorbed and self- 
contained a life for a man who has great ambitions to 
realize, or who is in downright earnest about his work,” 


PERSISTENCY OF BORROWDEAN 269 


“What you all forget when you discuss Lawrence 
Mannering is this,” Berenice said. “He holds his 
position almost as a sacred charge. He is absolutely 
conscientious. He wants certain things for the sake of 
the people, and he will work steadily on until he gets 
them. I believe it is the truth that he has no personal 
ambition, but if the cause he has at heart is to be 
furthered at all it must be by his taking office. There- 
fore I think that when the time comes he will take it.” 

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Lord Redford ad- 
mitted. “ By the bye, did you notice that he is included 
in the house party at Sandringham again this week?” 

Anstruther, the youngest Cabinet Minister, and Lord 
Redford’s nephew, joined in the conversation. 

“I can tell you something for a fact,” he said. “My 
cousin is Lady-in-Waiting, and she’s been up in town 
for a few days, and she asked me about Mannering. 
A Certain Personage thinks very highly of him indeed. 
Told some one that Mr. Mannering was the most states- 
man-like politician in the service of his country. I 
believe he’d sooner see Mannering Prime Minister than 
any one.” 

“But he has no following,” Borrowdean objected. 

“I think,” Berenice said, slowly, “that he keeps as 
far aloof as possible for one reason, and one reason 
only. He avoids friendship, but he makes no enemies. 
He cultivates a neutral position whenever he can. 
What he is looking forward to, I am sure, is to found 
a coalition Government.” 

“It is very possible,” Lord Redford remarked. “I 
wonder if he will ask me to join.” 

“Always selfish,” Berenice laughed. “You men are 
all alike!” 


270 


A LOST LEADER 


“On the contrary,” Lord Redford answered, “my 
interest was purely patriotic. I cannot imagine the 
affairs of the country flourishing deprived of my valu- 
able services. Let us go and wander through the 
crowd. Members of a Government in extremes like 
ours ought not to whisper together in corners. It 
gives rise to comment.” 

Anstruther came hurrying up. He drew Redford 
on one side. 

“Mannering is here,” he said, quietly. “Just ar- 
rived from Sandringham. He is looking for you.” 

Almost as he spoke Mannering appeared. He did 
not at first see Berenice, and from the corner where 
she stood she watched him closely. 

It was two years since those few weeks at Bonestre, 
and during all that time they had scarcely met. Bere- 
nice knew that he had avoided her. For twelve months 
he had declined all social engagements, and since then 
he had pleaded the stress of political affairs as an excuse 
for leading the life almost of a recluse. Unseen her- 
self, she studied him closely. He was much thinner, 
and every trace of his once healthy colouring had dis- 
appeared. His eyes seemed deeper set. There were 
streaks of grey in his hair. But for all that to her he 
was unaltered. He was still the one man in the world. 
She saw him shake hands with Lord Redford and draw 
him a little on one side. 

“Can you spare me five minutes?” he asked. “I 
have a matter to discuss with you.” 

“Certainly!” Lord Redford answered. “I am leav- 
ing directly, and I might drive you home if you liked. 
We heard that you were at Sandringham.” 

“I came up this afternoon,” Mannering answered. 


PERSISTENCY OF BORROWDEAN 271 


“I heard that you were likely to be here, and as Lady 
Herrington had been kind enough to send me a card 
I came on.” 

Lord Redford nodded. 

“Borrowdean and Anstruther are here too,” he 
remarked. “We all felt in need of diversion. As you 
know very well, we’re in a tight corner.” 

Berenice came out from her place. At the sound 
of the rustling of her skirts both men turned their 
heads. She wore a gown of black velvet and a won- 
derful rope of pearls hung from her neck. She raised 
her hand and smiled at Mannering. 

“I am glad to see you again,” she said, softly. “It 
is quite an age since we met, isn’t it?” 

He held her hand for a moment. The touch of his 
fingers chilled her. He greeted her with quiet courtesy, 
but there was no answering smile upon his lips. 

“I have heard often of your movements from Clara,” 
he said. “You have been very kind to her.” 

“It has never occurred to me in that light,” she 
said. “Clara needs a chaperon, and I need a com- 
panion. We were talking yesterday of going to Cairo 
for the winter. My only fear is that I am robbing you 
of your niece.” 

“Please do not let that trouble you,” he said. “Clara 
would be a most uncomfortable member of my house- 
hold.” 

“But are you never at all lonely?” she asked. 

“I never have time to think of such a thing,” he 
answered. “Besides, I have Hester. She makes a 
wonderful secretary, and she seems to enjoy the work.” 

“I should like to have a talk with you some time,” 
she said. “Won’t you come and see me?” 


272 


A LOST LEADER 


He hesitated. 

“It is very kind of you to ask me,” he said. “Don’t 
think me churlish, but I go nowhere. I am trying to 
make up, you see, for my years of idleness.” 

She looked at him steadfastly, and her heart sank. 
The change in his outward appearance seemed typical 
of some deeper and more final alteration in his whole 
nature. She felt herself powerless against the absolute 
impenetrability of his tone and manner. She felt that 
he had fought a battle within himself and conquered; 
that for some reason or other he had decided to walk 
no longer in the pleasanter paths of life. She had 
come to him unexpectedly, but he had shown no sign 
of emotion. Her influence over him seemed to be 
wholly a thing of the past. She made one more effort. 

“I think,” she said, “that as one grows older one 
parts the less readily with the few friends who count. 
I hope that you will change your mind.” 

He bowed gravely, but he made no answer. Berenice 
took Borrowdean’s arm and passed on. There was a 
little spot of colour in her cheeks. Borrowdean felt 
nerved to his enterprise. 

“Let us go somewhere and sit down for a few 
minutes,” he suggested. “The rooms are so hot this 
evening.” 

She assented without words, and he found a solitary 
couch in one of the further apartments. 

“I wonder,” he said, after a moment’s pause, 
“whether I might say something to you, whether 
you would listen to me for a few minutes.” 

Berenice was absorbed in her own thoughts. She 
allowed him to proceed. 

“For a good many years,” he said, lowering his 


PERSISTENCY OF BORROWDEAN 273 

voice a little, “I have worked hard and done all I could 
to be successful. I wanted to have some sort of a 
position to offer. I am a Cabinet Minister now, and 
although I don’t suppose we can last much longer this 
time, I shall have a place whenever we are in again.” 

The sense of what he was saying began to dawn 
upon her. She stopped him at once. 

“Please do not say any more, Sir Leslie,” she begged. 
“I should have given you credit for sufficient percep- 
tion to have known beforehand the absolute impossi- 
bility of — of anything of the sort.” 

“You are still a young woman,” he said, quietly. 
“The world expects you to marry again.” 

“I have no interest in what the world expects of me,” 
she answered, “but I may tell you at once that my 
refusal has nothing whatever to do with the question 
of marriage in the abstract. You are a man of per- 
ception, Sir Leslie! It will be, I trust, sufficient if I 
say that I have no feelings whatever towards you 
which would induce me to consider the subject even 
for a moment.” 

She was unchanged, then! This time he recognized 
the note of finality in her tone. All the time and thought 
he had given to this matter were wasted. He had failed, 
and he knew why. He seldom permitted himself the 
luxury of anger, but he felt all the poison of bitter 
hatred stirring within him at that moment, and craving 
for some sort of expression. There was nothing he 
could do, nothing he could say But if Mannering had 
been within reach then he would have struck him. He 
rose and walked slowly away. 


CHAPTER II 


HESTER THINKS IT “A GREAT PITY” 

OU will understand/’ Mannering said, as the 



A brougham drove off, “that you and I are speak- 
ing together merely as friends. I have nothing official 
to say to you. It would be presumption on my part 
to assume that the time is ripe for anything definite 
while you are still at the head of an unbeaten Govern- 
ment. But one learns to read the signs of the times. 
I think that you and I both know that you cannot last 
the session.” 

“It is a positive luxury at times,” Redford answered, 
“to be able to indulge in absolute candour. We can- 
not last the session. You pulled us through our last 
tight corner, but we shall part, I suppose, on the New 
Tenement Bill, and then we shall come a cropper.” 

Mannering nodded. 

“The Opposition,” he said, “are not strong enough 
to form a Government alone. And I do not think that 
a one-man Cabinet would be popular. It has been 
suggested to me that at no time in political history 
have the conditions been more favourable for a really 
strong coalition Government, containing men of moder- 
ate views on both sides. I am anxious to know whether 
you would be willing to join such a combination.” 

“Under whom?” Lord Redford asked. 

“Under myself,” Mannering answered, gravely. 
“Don’t think me over-presumptuous. The matter 


HESTER THINKS IT “A PITY” 


275 


has been very carefully thought out. You could not 
serve under Rushleigh, nor could he serve under you. 
But you could both be invaluable members of a Cabinet 
of which I was the nominal head. I do not wish to 
entrap you into consent, however, without your fully 
understanding this : a modified, and to a certain extent 
an experimental, scheme of tariff reform would be part 
of our programme.” 

“You wish for a reply,” Lord Redford said, “only 
in general terms?” 

“Only in general terms, of course,” Mannering 
assented. 

“Then you may take it,” Lord Redford said, “that 
I should be proud to become a member of such a Gov- 
ernment. Anything would be better than a fourth- 
party administration with Imperialism on the brain 
and rank Protection on their programme. They might 
do mischief which it would take centuries to undo.” 

“We understand one another, Lord Redford,” Man- 
nering said, simply. “I am very much obliged to you. 
This is my turning.” 

Mannering, when he found himself alone in his study, 
drew a little sigh of relief. He flung himself into an 
easy-chair, and sat with his hands pressed against his 
temples. The events of the day, from the morning at 
Sandringham to his recent conversation with Lord Red- 
ford, were certainly of sufficiently exciting a nature to 
provide him with food for thought. And yet his mind 
was full of one thing only, this chance meeting with 
Berenice. It was wonderful to him that she should have 
changed so little. He himself felt that the last two 
years were equal to a decade, that events on the other 
side of that line with which his life was riven were 


276 


A LOST LEADER 


events with which some other person was concerned, 
certainly not the Lawrence Mannering of to-day. And 
yet he knew now that the battle which he had fought 
was far from a final one. Her power over him was 
unchanged. He was face to face once more with the 
old problem. His fife was sworn to the service of the 
people. He had crowded his days with thoughts and 
deeds and plans for them. Almost every personal 
luxury and pleasure had been abnegated. He had 
found a sort of fierce delight in the asceticism of his 
daily life, in the unflinching firmness with which he 
had barred the gates which might lead him into smoother 
and happier ways. To-night he was beset with a sudden 
fear. He rose and looked at himself in the glass. He 
was pale and wan. His face lacked the robust vitality 
of a few years ago. He was ageing fast. He was 
conscious of certain disquieting symptoms in the 
routine of his daily life. He threw himself back into 
the chair with a little groan. The mockery of his 
life of ceaseless toil seemed suddenly to spread itself 
out before him, a grim and unlovely jest. What if 
his strength should go? What if all this labour and 
self-denial should be in vain? He found himself grow- 
ing giddy at the thought. 

He rang the bell and ordered wine. Then he went 
to the telephone and rang up a doctor who lived near. 
Very soon, with coat and waistcoat off, he was going 
through a somewhat prolonged examination. After- 
wards the doctor sat down opposite to him and accepted 
a cigar. 

“What made you send for me this evening?” he 
asked, curiously. 

Mannering hesitated. 


HESTER THINKS IT “A PITY 


277 


“An impulse,” he said. “To-morrrow I should have 
no time to come to you. I wasn’t feeling quite my- 
self, and it is possible that I may be undertaking some 
very important work before long.” 

“I shouldn’t if I were you,” the doctor remarked, 
quietly. 

“The work is of such a nature,” Mannering said, 
“that I could not refuse it. It may not come, but if 
it does I must go through with it.” 

“I doubt whether you will succeed,” the doctor 
said. “There is nothing the matter with you except 
that you have been drawing on your reserve stock of 
strength to such an extent that you are on the verge 
of a collapse. The longer you stave it off the more 
complete it will be.” 

“You are a Job’s comforter,” Mannering remarked, 
with a smile. “Send me some physic, and I will take 
things as easy as I can.” 

“I’ll send you some,” the doctor answered, “but 
it won’t do you much good. What you want is rest 
and amusement.” 

Mannering laughed, and showed him out. When 
he returned to his study Hester was there, just returned 
from a visit to the theatre with some friends. She 
threw off her wrap and looked through the letters 
which had come by the evening’s post. 

“Did you see this from Richard Far dell?” she asked 
him. “Parkins is dead at last. Fardell says that he 
has been quite childish for the last eighteen months! 
Are you ill?” she broke off, suddenly. 

Mannering, who was lying back in his easy-chair, 
white almost to the lips, roused himself with an effort. 
He poured out a glass of wine and drank it off. 


278 


A LOST LEADER 


“I’m not ill,” he said, with rather a weak smile, 
“but I’m a little tired.” 

“Who was your visitor?” she asked. 

“A doctor. I felt a little run down, so I sent for 
him. Of course he told me the usual story. Rest 
and a holiday.” 

She came and sat on the arm of his chair. Every 
year she grew less and less like her mother Her hair 
was smoothly brushed back from her forehead, and her 
features were distinctly intellectual. She was by far 
the best secretary Mannering had ever had. 

“You need some one to look after you,” she said, 
decisively. 

“It seems to me that you do that pretty well,” he 
answered. “I don’t want any one else.” 

“You need some one with more authority than I 
have,” she said. “You ought to marry.” 

“Marry!” he gasped. 

“Yes.” 

“Any particular person?” 

“Of course! You know whom.” 

Mannering did not reply at once. He was looking 
steadfastly into the fire, and the gloom in his face 
was unlightened. 

“Hester,” he said, at last, in a very low tone, “I will 
tell you, if you like, a short, a very short chapter of my 
life. It lasted a few hours, a day or so, more or less. 
Yet of course it has made a difference always.” 

“I should like to, hear it,” she whispered. 

“The two great events of my life,” he said, “came 
together. “I was engaged to be married to the Duchess 
of Lenchester at the same time that I found myself 
forced to sever my connexion with the Liberal party. 


HESTER THINKS IT “A PITY” 


279 


You know, of course, that the Duchess has always 
been a great figure in politics. She has ambitions, 
and her political creed is almost a part of the religion 
of her fife. She looked upon my apostasy with horror. 
It came between us at the very moment when I thought 
that I had found in life the one great and beautiful 
thing.” 

“If ever she let it come between you,” Hester in- 
terrupted, softly, “I believe that she has repented. 
We women are quick to find out those things, you 
know,” she added, “and I am sure that I am right. 
She has never married any one else. I do not believe 
that she ever will.” 

“It is too late,” Mannering said. “A union between 
us now could only lead to unhappiness. The disinte- 
gration of parties is slowly commencing, and I think 
that the next few years will find me still further apart 
than I am to-day from my old friends. Berenice” — 
he slipped so easily into calling her so — “is heart and 
soul with them.” 

“At least,” Hester said, “I think that for both 
your sakes you should give her the opportunity of 
choosing.” 

“Even that,” he said, “would not be wise. We 
are man and woman still, you see, Hester, and there 
are moments when sentiment is strong enough to 
triumph over principle and sweep our minds bare of 
all the every-day thoughts. But afterwards — there 
is always the afterwards. The conflict must come. 
Reason stays with us always, and sentiment might 
weaken with the years.” 

She shook her head. 

“The Duchess is a woman,” she said, “and the hold 


280 A LOST LEADER 

of all other things grows weak when she loves. Give 
her the chance.” 

“ Don’t!” Mannering exclaimed, almost sharply. 
“You can’t see this matter as I do. I have vowed my 
life now. I have seen my duty, and I have kept my 
face turned steadily towards it. Once I was contented 
with very different things, and I think that I came as 
near happiness then as a man often does. But those 
days have gone by. They have left a whole world 
of delightful memories, but I have locked the doors of 
the past behind me.” 

Hester shook her head. 

“You are making a mistake,” she said. “Two 
people who love one another, and who are honest in 
their opinions, find happiness sooner or later if they 
have the courage to seek for it. Don’t you know,” 
she continued, after a moment’s pause, “that — she 
understood? I always like to think what I believe 
to be the truth. She went away to leave you free.” 

Mannering rose to his feet and pointed to the clock. 

“It is time that you and I were in bed, Hester,” 
he said. “Remember that we have a busy morning.” 

“It seems a pity,” she murmured, as she wished 
him good-night. “A great pity!” 


CHAPTER III 


SUMMONED TO WINDSOR 

B ERENICE, who had just returned from making 
a call, was standing in the hall, glancing through 
the cards displayed upon a small round table. The 
major-domo of her household came hurrying out from 
his office. 

“ There is a young lady, your Grace,” he announced, 
“who has been waiting to see you for half an hour. 
Her name is Miss Phillimore.” 

“Where is she?” Berenice asked. 

“In the library, your Grace.” 

“Show her into my own room,” Berenice said. “I 
will see her at once.” 

Hester was a little nervous, but Berenice set her 
immediately at her ease by the graciousness of her 
manner. They talked for some time of Bonestre. 
Then there was a moment’s pause. Hester sum- 
moned up her courage. 

“I am afraid,” she said, “that you may consider 
what I am going to say rather a liberty. I’ve thought 
it all out, and I decided to come to you. I couldn’t 
see any other way.” 

Berenice smiled encouragingly. 

“I will promise you,” she said, “that I will consider 
it nothing of the sort.” 

“That is very kind of you,” Hester said. “I have 
come here because Mr. Mannering is the greatest friend 


282 


A LOST LEADER 


I have in the world. He stands to me for all the 
relatives most girls have, and I am very fond of him 
indeed. I scarcely remember my father, but Mr. 
Mannering was always kind to me when I was a 
child. You know, perhaps, that I am living with 
him now as his secretary?” 

Berenice nodded pleasantly. 

“I see him every day,” Hester continued, “and I 
notice things. He has changed a great deal during 
the last few years. I am getting very anxious about 
him.” 

“He is not ill, I hope?” Berenice asked. “I too 
noticed a change. It grieved me very much.” 

“He is simply working himself to death,” Hester 
continued, “without relaxation or pleasure of any sort. 
And all the time he is unhappy. Other men, however 
hard they work, have their hobbies and their occasional 
holidays. He has neither. And I think that I know 
why. He fights all the time to forget.” 

•“To forget what?” Berenice asked, slowly turning 
her head. 

“To forget how near he came once to being very 
happy,” Hester answered, boldly. “To forget — you!” 

Then her heart sang a little song of triumph, for 
she saw the instant change in the still, cold face turned 
now a little away from her. She saw the proud lips 
tremble and the unmistakable light leap out from the 
dark eyes. She saw the colour rush into the cheeks, 
and she had no more fear. She rose from her chair 
and dropped on one knee by Berenice’s side. 

“Make him happy, please,” she begged. “You can 
doit. You only! He loves you!” 

Berenice smiled ; although her eyes were wet with 


SUMMONED TO WINDSOR 


283 


tears. She laid her long, delicate fingers upon the 
other’s hand. 

“But, my dear child,” she protested, “what can I 
do? Mr. Mannering won’t come near me. He won’t 
even write to me. I can’t take him by storm, can I?” 

“He is so foolish,” Hester said, also smiling. “He 
will not understand how unimportant all other things 
are when two people care for one another. He talks 
about the difference in your politics, as though that 
were sufficient to keep you apart!” 

Berenice was silent for a moment. 

“There was a time,” she said, softly, “when I thought 
so, too.” 

“Exactly!” Hester declared. “And he doesn’t know, 
of course, that you don’t think so now.” 

Berenice smiled slightly. 

“You must remember, dear,” she said, “that Mr. 
Mannering and I are in rather a peculiar position. 
My great-grandfather, my father and my uncle were all 
Prime Ministers of England, and they were all staunch 
Liberals. My family has always taken its politics very 
seriously indeed, and so have I. It is not a little thing, 
this, after all.” 

“But you will do it!” Hester exclaimed. “I am sure 
that you will.” 

Berenice rose to her feet. A sense of excitement 
was suddenly quivering in her veins, her heart was 
beating fiercely. After all, this child was wise. She 
had been drifting into the dull, passionless life of a 
middle-aged woman. All the joys of youth seemed 
suddenly to be sweeping up from her heart, mocking 
the serenity of her days, these stagnant days, sheltered 
from the great winds of life, where the waves were 


284 


A LOST LEADER 


ripples and the hours changeless. She raised her arms 
for a moment and dropped them to her side. 

“Oh, I do not know!” she cried. “It is such an 
upheaval. If he were here — if he asked me himself. 
But he will never come now.” 

“I believe that he would come to-morrow,” Hester 
said, “if he were sure ” 

Berenice laughed softly. There was colour in her 
cheeks as she turned to Hester. 

“Tell him to come and have tea with me to-morrow 
afternoon,” she said. “I shall be quite alone.” 

Hester felt all her confidence slipping away from 
her. The echoes of her breathless, passionate words 
had scarcely died away, and Mannering, to all ap- 
pearance, was unmoved. His still, cold face showed 
no signs of agitation, his dark, beringed eyes were full 
of nothing but an intense weariness. 

“Do I understand, Hester,” he asked, “that you 
have been to see the Duchess? — that you have spoken 
of these things to her?” 

Her heart sank. His tone was almost censorious. 
Nevertheless, she stood her ground. 

“Yes! I have told you the truth. And I am glad 
that I went. You are very clever people, both of you, 
but you are spoiling your lives for the sake of a little 
common sense. It was necessary for some one to 
interfere.” 

Mannering shook his head slowly. 

“You meant kindly, Hester,” he said, “but it was 
a mistake. The time when that might have been 
possible has gone by. Neither she nor I can call back 
the hand of time. The last two years have made an 


SUMMONED TO WINDSOR 


285 


old man of me. I have no longer my enthusiasm. 
I am in the whirlpool, and I must fight my way 
through to the end.” 

She sat at his feet. He was still in the easy-chair 
into which he had sunk on his first coming into the 
room. He had been speaking in the House late, 
amidst all the excitement of a political crisis. 

“Why fight alone,” she murmured, “when she is 
willing to come to you?” 

He shook his head. 

“There would be conditions,” he said, “and she 
would not understand. I may be in office in a month 
with most of her friends in opposition. The situation 
would be impossible!” 

“Rubbish!” Hester declared. “The Duchess is too 
great a woman to lose so utterly her sense of propor- 
tion. Don’t you understand — that she loves you?” 

Mannering laughed bitterly. 

“She must love a shadow, then!” he said, “for the 
man she knew does not exist any longer. Poor little 
girl, are you disappointed?” he added, more kindly. 
“I am sorry!” 

“I am disappointed to hear you talking like this,” 
she declared. “I will not believe that it is more than 
a mood. You are overtired, perhaps!” 

“Ay!” he said. “But I have been overtired for a long 
time. The strength the gods give us lasts a weary 
while. You must send my excuses to the Duchess, 
Hester. The fates are leading me another way.” 

“I won’t do it,” she sobbed. “You shall be reason- 
able! I will make you go!” 

He shook his head. 

“If you could,” he murmured, “you might alter the 


286 


A LOST LEADER 


writing on one little page of history. We defeated 
the Government to-night badly, and I am going to 
Windsor to-morrow afternoon. ,, 

Hester rose to her feet and paced the room rest- 
lessly. Mannering had spoken without exultation. 
His pallid face seemed to her to have grown thin and 
hard. He saw himself the possible Prime Minister of 
the morrow without the slightest suggestion of any 
sort of gratified ambition. 

“I don’t know whether to say that I am glad or 
not,” Hester declared, stopping once more by his side. 
“If you are going to shut yourself off from everything 
else in life which makes for happiness, to forget that 
you are a man, and turn yourself into a law-making 
machine, well, then, I am sorry. I think that your 
success will be a curse to you. I think that you will 
live to regret it.” 

Mannering looked at her for a moment with a gleam 
of his old self shining out of his eyes. A sudden pathos, 
a wave of self-pity had softened his face. 

“Dear child!” he said, gravely, “I cannot make 
you understand. I carry a burden from which no one 
can free me. For good or for evil the powers that be 
have set my feet in the path of the climbers, and for 
the sake of those whose sufferings I have seen I must 
struggle upwards to the end. Berenice and the Duchess 
of Lenchester are two very different persons. I can- 
not take one into my life without the other. It is 
because I love her, Hester, that I let her go. Good- 
night, child!” 

She kissed his hand and went slowly to her room, 
stumbling upstairs through a mist of tears. There 
was nothing more that she could do. 


CHAPTER IV 


CHECKMATE TO BORROWDEAN 

M ANNERING’S town house, none too large at 
any time, was transformed into a little hive 
of industry. Two hurriedly appointed secretaries 
were at work in the dining-room, and Hester was 
busy typing in her own little sanctum. 

Mannering sat in his study before a table covered 
with papers, and for the first time during the day was 
alone for a few moments. 

His servant brought in a card. Mannering glanced 
at it and frowned. 

“The gentleman said that he would not keep you 
for more than a moment, sir,” the servant announced 
quietly, mindful of the half-sovereign which had been 
slipped into his hand. 

Mannering still looked at the card doubtfully. 

“You can show him up,” he said at last. 

“Very good, sir!” 

The man withdrew, and reappeared to usher in 
Sir Leslie Borrowdean. Mannering greeted him with- 
out offering his hand. 

“You wished to see me, Sir Leslie?” he asked. 
Borrowdean came slowly into the room. He closed 
the door behind him. 

“I hope,” he said, “that you will not consider my 
presence an intrusion!” 


288 


A LOST LEADER 


“ You have business with me, I presume,” Mannering 
answered, coldly. “Pray sit down.” 

Borrowdean ignored the chair, towards which Man- 
nering had motioned. He came and stood by the 
side of the table. 

“Unless your memory, Mannering,” he said, with a 
hard little laugh, “is as short as the proverbial 
politician’s, you can scarcely be surprised at my visit.” 

Mannering raised his eyebrows, and said nothing. 

“I must confess,” Borrowdean continued, “that I 
scarcely expected to find it necessary for me to come 
here and remind you that it was I who am responsible 
for your reappearance in politics.” 

“I am not likely,” Mannering said, slowly, “to forget 
your good offices in that respect.” 

“I felt sure that you would not,” Borrowdean 
answered. “Yet you must not altogether blame me 
for my coming! I understand that the list of your 
proposed Cabinet is to be completed to-morrow after- 
noon, and as yet I have heard nothing from you.” 

“Your information,” Mannering said, “is quite 
correct. In fact, my list is complete already. If 
your visit here is one of curiosity, I have no objec- 
tion to gratify it. Here is a list of the names I have 
selected.” 

He handed a sheet of paper to Borrowdean, who 
glanced it eagerly down. Afterwards he looked up 
and met Mannering’ s calm gaze. There was an ab- 
solute silence for several seconds. 

“My name,” Borrowdean said, hoarsely, “is not 
amongst these!” 

“It really never occurred to me for a single second 
to place it there,” Mannering answered. 


CHECKMATE TO BORROWDEAN 289 

Borrowdean drew a little breath. He was deathly 
pale. 

“You include Redford,” he said. “He is a more 
violent partizan than I have ever been. I have heard 
you say a dozen times that you disapprove of turning 
a man out of office directly he has got into the swing 
of it. Has any one any fault to find with me? I have 
done my duty, and done it thoroughly. I don’t know 
what your programme may be, but if Redford can 
accept it I am sure that I can.” 

“ Possibly,” Mannering answered. “I have this pecul- 
iarity, though. Call it a whim, if you like. I desire 
to see my Cabinet composed of honourable men.” 

Borrowdean started back as though he had received 
a blow. 

“Am I to accept that as a statement of your opinion 
of me?” he demanded. 

“It seems fairly obvious,” Mannering answered, 
“that such was my intention.” 

“You owe your place in public life to me,” Borrow- 
dean exclaimed. 

“If I do,” Mannering answered, “do you imagine 
that I consider myself your debtor? I tell you that 
to-day, at this moment, I have no political ambitions. 
Before you appeared at Blakely and commenced your 
underhand scheming, I was a contented, almost a 
happy man. You imagined that my reappearance 
in political life would be beneficial to you, and with 
that in view, and that only, you set yourself to get 
me back. You succeeded! We won’t say how! If 
you are disappointed with the result what concern 
is that of mine? You have called yourself my friend. 
I have not for some time considered you as such. 


290 


A LOST LEADER 


I owe you nothing. I have no feeling for you save 
one of contempt. To me you figure as the modern 
political adventurer, living on his wits and the credu- 
lity of other people. Better see how it will pay you 
in opposition.” 

Borrowdean, a cold-blooded and calculating man, 
knew for the first time in his life what it was to let 
his passions govern him. Every word which this 
man had spoken was truth, and therefore all the more 
bitter to hear. He saw himself beaten and humiliated, 
outwitted by the man whom he had sought to make 
his tool. A slow paroxysm of anger held him rigid. He 
was white to the lips. His nerves and senses were all 
tingling. There was red fire before his eyes. 

“If your business with me is ended,” Mannering 
said, waving his hand towards the door, “you will 
forgive me if I remind you that I am much occupied.” 

Borrowdean snatched up the square glass paper 
cutter from the table, and without a second’s 
warning he struck Mannering with it full upon the 
temple. 

“Damn you!” he said. 

Mannering tried to struggle to his feet, but col- 
lapsed, and fell upon the floor. Borrowdean kicked 
his prostrate body. 

“Now go and form your Cabinet,” he muttered. 
“May you wake in hell!” 

Borrowdean, who left the study a madman, was a 
sane person the moment he began to descend the stairs 
and found himself face to face with a tall, heavily 
cloaked woman. The flash of familiar jewels in her 
hair, something, perhaps, in the quiet stateliness of her 


CHECKMATE TO BORROWDEAN 


291 


movements, betrayed her identity to him. His heart 
gave a quick jump. A sickening fear stole over him. 
He barred the way. 

“ Duchess!” he exclaimed. 

She waved him aside with an impatient gesture. 
He could see the frown gathering upon her face. 

“ Sir Leslie!” she replied. “ Please let me pass! 
I want to see Mr. Mannering before any one else 
goes up!” 

Sir Leslie drew immediately to one side. 

“Pray do not let me detain you,” he said, coolly. 
“Between ourselves, I do not think that Mannering 
is in a fit state to see anybody. I have not been able 
to get a coherent word out of him. He walks all the 
time backwards and forwards like a man demented.” 

Berenice smiled slightly. 

“You are annoyed,” she declared, “because you 
will be in opposition once more!” 

“If I go into opposition again,” Borrowdean an- 
swered, “it will be my own choice. Mannering has 
asked me to join his Cabinet.” 

Berenice raised her eyebrows. Her surprise was 
genuine. 

“You amaze me!” she declared. 

“I was amazed myself,” he answered. 

She passed on her way, and Borrowdean descend- 
ing, took a cab quietly home. Berenice, with her hand 
upon the door, hesitated. Hester had purposely sent 
her up alone. They had waited until they had heard 
Borrowdean leave the room. And now at the last 
moment she hesitated. She was a proud woman. She 
was departing now, for his sake, from the conventions 
of a lifetime. He had declined to come to her; no 


292 


A LOST LEADER 


matter, she had come to him instead. Suppose — he 
should not be glad? Suppose she should fail to see 
in his face her justification? It was very quiet in the 
room. She could not even hear the scratching of his 
pen. Twice her fingers closed upon the knob of the 
door, and twice she hesitated. If it had not been for 
facing Hester below she would probably have gone 
silently away. 

And then — she heard a sound. It was not at all 
the sort of sound for which she had been listening, 
but it brought her hesitation to a sudden end. She 
threw open the door, and a little cry of amazement 
broke from her trembling lips. It was indeed a groan 
which she had heard. Mannering was stretched upon 
the floor, his eyes half closed, his face ghastly white. 
For a moment she stood motionless, a whole torrent 
of arrested speech upon her quivering lips. Then she 
dropped on her knees by his side and lifted his cold 
hand. 

“Oh, my love!” she murmured. “My love!” 

But he made no sign. Then she stood up, and her 
cry of horror rang through the house. 


CHAPTER V 


A BRAZEN PROCEEDING 

M ANNERING opened his eyes lazily. His com- 
panion had stopped suddenly in his reading. 
He appeared to be examining a certain paragraph 
in the paper with much interest. Mannering stretched 
out his hand for a match, and relit his cigarette. 
“Read it out, Richard,” he said. “Don’t mind me.” 
The young man started slightly. 

“I am very sorry, sir,” he said. “I thought that 
you were asleep!” 

Mannering smiled. 

“What about the paragraph?” he asked. 

“It is just this,” Richard answered, reading. “‘The 
Duchess of Lenchester and Miss Clara Mannering have 
arrived at Claridge’s from the South of Italy.’ ” 
Mannering looked at him keenly. 

“I am curious to know which part of that announce- 
ment you find so interesting,” he said. 

“Certainly not the latter part, sir,” the young man 
answered. “I thought perhaps you would have no- 
ticed— I meant to speak to you as soon as you were 
a little stronger— I have asked Hester to be my wife!” 

“Then all I can say,” Mannering declared, gravely, 
“ is, that you are a remarkably sensible young man. 
I am quite strong enough to bear a shock of that sort.” 
“I’m very glad to hear you say so, sir,” Richard 


294 


A LOST LEADER 


said. “Of course I shouldn’t think of taking her away 
until you were quite yourself again.” 

“The cheek of the young man!” Mannering mur- 
mured. “She wouldn’t go!” 

“I don’t believe she would,” Richard laughed. “Of 
course we consider that you are very nearly well now.” 

“You can consider what you like,” Mannering an- 
swered, “but I shall remain an invalid as long as it 
pleases me.” 

Hester appeared on the upper lawn, and Richard 
rose up at once. 

“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said, “I think that I 
should like to go and tell Hester that I have spoken 
to you.” 

Mannering nodded. He watched the two young 
people stroll off together towards the rose-garden, 
talking earnestly. He heard the little iron gate open 
and close. He watched them disappear behind the 
hedge of laurels. A puff of breeze brought the faint 
odour of roses to him, and with it a sudden host of 
memories. His eyes grew wistful. He felt some- 
thing tugging at his heartstrings. Only a few years 
ago life here had seemed so wonderful a thing — only 
a few years, but with all the passions and struggles 
of a lifetime crowded into them. The maelstrom was 
there still, but he himself had crept out of it. What 
was there left? Peace, haunted with memories, rest, 
troubled by desire. He heard the sound of their 
voices in the rose-garden, and he turned away with 
a pain in his heart of which he was ashamed. These 
things were for the young! If youth had passed him 
by, still there were compensations! 

Compensations, aye — but he wanted none of them! 


A BRAZEN PROCEEDING 


295 


He picked up the newspaper, and with a little difficulty, 
for his sight was not yet good, found a certain par- 
agraph. Then the paper slipped again from his fingers, 
and he heard the sweeping of a woman's dress across 
the smooth-shaven lawn. He gripped the sides of his 
chair and set his teeth hard. He struggled to rise, 
but she moved swiftly up to him with a gesture of 
remonstrance. 

“ Please don't move,'' she exclaimed, as though 
her coming were the most natural thing in the world. 
“I am going to sit down with you, if I may!" 

He murmured an expression of conventional delight. 
She wore a dress of some soft white material, and 
her figure was as wonderful as ever. He recovered 
himself almost at once and studied her admiringly. 

“ Paris?" he murmured. 

“Paquin!" she answered. “I remembered that you 
liked me in white." 

“But where on earth have you come from?" he 
asked. 

“The Farm," she answered. “I'm going to take it 
for three months — if you’re decent to me!" 

“That rascal Richard!" he muttered. “Never told 
me a word! Pretended to be surprised when he heard 
you and Clara were back." 

She nodded. 

“Clara is going to marry that Frenchman next 
month," she said, “and I shall be looking for another 
companion. Do you know of one?" 

“I haven't another niece," he answered. 

“Even if you had," she said, “I have come to the 
conclusion that I want something different. Will you 
listen to me patiently for a moment?" 


I 



£77?&? 


296 


A LOST LEADER 


?c 

i5ct 


“Yes.” 


“Will you marry me, please?” she said. “No, don’t 
interrupt. I want there to be no misunderstand- 
ings this time. I don’t care whether you are an 
invalid or not. I don’t care whether you are going 
back into politics or not. I don’t care whether we 
live here or in any other corner of the world. You 
can call yourself anything, from an anarchist to a 
Tory — or be anything. You can have all your work- 
ingmen here to dinner in flannel shirts, if you like, 
and I’ll play bowls with their wives on the lawn. 
Nothing matters but this one thing, Lawrence. Will 
you marry me — and try to care a little?” 

“This is absolutely,” Mannering declared, taking 
her into his arms, “the most brazen proceeding!” 

“It’s a good deal better than the bungle we made 
of it before,” she murmured. 


THE END 








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